


and after

by trevino



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt!Spencer, Loss, M/M, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Supportive Derek, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevino/pseuds/trevino
Summary: (a re-imagining of criminal minds after the events of s08e12- zugzwang)"there's a grief that can't be spoken // there's a pain goes on and on"orhow reid begins to recover from the loss of someone he never expected to have, and finds what he's always wanted in the process.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 29
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this isn't my first fic, but it is my first published work for the criminal minds 'verse. not sure what direction this fic will be headed in, but everything through s08e12 is considered canon- i'm just taking the aftermath on my own little spin. 
> 
> summary taken from "empty chairs and empty tables" (les mis). good song for crying, by the way.

## chapter one

When Maeve dies, it feels like all the air drains from Reid’s lungs.

It’s a feeling he’s felt before, many times throughout the years, while working cases with the BAU- the chill in his bones when Tobias Henkel drugged him, or when he felt the anthrax enter his system in Annapolis all those years ago.

But once- just once- he felt it in a moment of joy instead of devastation. Ten months ago, when Maeve answered his call for the first time, her voice sent shockwaves through the phone and into Reid’s skin. That’s when it all started.

And now, just as it began, it ends- a flash of light, and then total darkness.

~

Somehow, Morgan is the first member of the team to speak to Reid afterwards. After Maeve. He gets Reid on the phone by leaving breadcrumbs about their tortured-artist-painting-with-blood case. Most of the calls end too quickly, with Morgan’s questions cut off by the beep of Reid ending the call, but somehow, it works.

Because now, Reid’s standing in the San Francisco police station, unshaven and clinging to the threads of his sweater like a life raft. Their eyes meet each other, Reid’s bloodshot and Morgan’s sympathetic.

Reid doesn’t feel whole again, far from it ( _the healing process for losing someone you love can last anywhere from 6 months to 4 years on average_ , he reminds himself bitterly), but here, surrounded by his team and stale cups of coffee, he feels like he’s starting to catch his breath.

~

On the plane back to Quantico, Reid asks Morgan and JJ for their help, the words catching in his throat with uncertainty. Nevertheless, he asks anyway, and the pair can’t help but oblige- of course, bringing Garcia with them.

They fill his apartment with more life than it’s seen in weeks, and Garcia’s first move is to open the windows and allow sunlight to enter the room. The warmth feels unnatural to Reid, but he welcomes it regardless; it, and the trio organizing books and tossing out empty take-out containers in his apartment, fills him with more life and energy than he thought possible, after Maeve. _(After Maeve, like the delineation of BCE to CE. Monumental events that define everything in your life.)_

JJ and Garcia leave after a few hours, but Morgan lingers in the living room, his hand grazing Reid’s shoulder. He tries not to notice the younger man jump, shuddering away from his touch.

“Hey, pretty boy. Thank you for asking us to come over, seriously. We’re really glad to help.” Derek’s voice is soft, but firm. Even the majority of one case without Reid felt foreign; Reid’s not back yet, not really, but it’s something.

Reid stalls, almost imperceptibly leaning back into Morgan’s touch. “Um, yeah. Thanks. Thanks for coming. You know, after the ones in the basket Garcia left for me, my collection now includes 14 editions of Kafka’s ‘Metamorphosis.’” He’s still unstable on his feet, shaking slightly, after having spent much of the past few weeks crumpled in a heap on the floor. But he’s genuine in his appreciation for his teammates, even if he doesn’t show it very well.

Morgan smiles; that’s the Reid he remembers. “So, uh, I’ll see you Monday?” It’s mostly just a friendly goodbye, but also a question- is Reid “back,” or was this case just a one-time thing? Derek pauses for the answer.

Spencer lifts his head, eyes watering under his unkempt bangs. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, nearly as uncertain in his response as Derek is. But somehow, he formulates his answer, one simple word that holds a thousand feelings.

“Stay.”

~

Reid’s wish is Morgan’s command, so to speak; he drops his go-bag next to the couch, where Reid has finally settled in amongst the blankets, and goes to fill the tea kettle with water. Morgan’s been in this apartment a few times before, mostly just to bring Reid case files when he was shot or pick the younger agent up from work when his car wouldn’t start; he doesn’t necessarily know his way around, but he was raised by a single mom- so he knows how to make a cup of tea.

“Earl Grey?” Derek calls from the kitchen. The kid’s got a ton of variations of tea, all caffeinated of course; he barely survives without it. There’s a coffee machine too, old school, but given that it’s almost 8 o’clock at night, Morgan decides to opt for the tea instead.

“Um, actually, peppermint if you don’t mind?” Reid’s response makes Morgan smile softly- he’s become quite fond of Reid responding to questions with ones of his own. “You got it, kid.”

Derek leans against the kitchen counter as the water boils, sinking deep into his rambling train of thought. He’s glad that Reid asked him to stick around; the man’s spent the past few weeks cooped up in the apartment alone, so he’s glad to offer some company. But damn, he can’t even begin to imagine what the kid’s been thinking about this whole time; his thoughts move faster than anyone else’s he’s ever known, so he can imagine that Reid’s felt like somewhat of a prisoner in his own head. All these books on the shelves, full of words that Reid can recite and recount from memory; it probably feels like a radio on in his head set to static at all times.

He’s starting to wonder exactly _how_ Reid can perfectly recite written phrases (eidetic memory be damned, he still doesn’t understand how all the thoughts fit in that man’s head) when he’s jarred out of his thoughts by the sound of two feet padding into the kitchen, clad in mismatched socks.

“Is the tea ready?” Reid asks, speaking softly as if trying to not spook Derek, which fails as the older man jolts into a stricter posture at the sound of his voice. Turning back towards the now-screaming tea kettle, he removes it from the gas burner and pours the water into the two mugs on the counter. He drops the tea bags into the mugs and hands one to Reid, moving slowly to make sure the hot liquid doesn’t scald him. “Here you go, kid.”

Reid smiles as he wraps his hands around the mug, allowing the heat to fog up his glasses- he’s been wearing them lately, as the idea of putting in contacts has seemed like too much effort. “Thanks, Morgan. You know, uh, you don’t actually have to stay. I was probably being selfish, I’m certain you have things to go home to, Clooney needs to be fed-”

Morgan cuts him off with a chuckle, picking up his own tea mug (green tea for him). “Reid, Reid, stop. I know I don’t have to stay here, I’m here because I want to be. My neighbor Mrs. Stalter feeds Clooney whenever I’m on a case, so there’s nothing to worry about. Plus, I kinda missed having my resident genius around, y’know? I want to be here.” He knows he’s probably rambling, but none of it’s a lie; though he had grown close to Emily in recent years, Reid had always been his “partner,” after so many years of cases. He’s used to having someone to tease on the long plane rides, someone to bounce ideas off of when the case seems hopeless.

It’s simple. He missed Reid.

“Oh! Okay, well, I’m glad you’re here Mor- Derek. I appreciate it. I know I’m kind of a mess right now….” Reid trails off, and Morgan’s face falls. He can tell that Reid’s not ready, not exactly comfortable with being around people yet, but damn it if Morgan’s not happy to be here with him. “Wanna go sit on the couch?”

It’s the first definitive suggestion Reid’s made since inviting the team to his apartment hours ago, and Derek’s eager to take him up on that offer. They move back into the living room, choosing spaces on either side of the worn green couch. There’s silence for a moment, air heavy, before Derek speaks.

“Kid, you know you can talk to me, right? We gave you some space, and I know you needed that, after Maeve. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, you know that, but we’re all here for you, figuratively and literally. I mean, I’m on your couch and all.” Derek laughs at himself, realizing that he’s doing a bit of the same rambling that he always teases Reid for. But he’s nervous too, nervous to be invading the younger man’s space like this when he’s so vulnerable.

Reid, in the middle of sipping his tea, sputters a little before putting his warm mug on the coffee table in front of him. He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, as Morgan expected. “I know, Morgan. I’ve, uh, just been reading, mostly? And writing my mom some letters. I hadn’t told her about Maeve yet, I didn’t want to jinx it, so I’ve just been telling her I took personal time. It’s easier that way.” Reid pauses, raking his hands through his hair. “Thanks for calling me about the case yesterday, uh, it was good to actually do something for a change.”

Morgan rolls his eyes at that; only Reid would consider reading and translating Russian literature as a hobby instead of a significant task. Across the couch, he fiddles with the thread-worn sleeves of his sweater, and another thought enters Morgan’s head as he’s reminded of the Henkel case, and what followed after Prentiss’s death.

“Reid, you, uh, you haven’t been…” Derek fades off, knowing that his coworker will know the implications of the start of that sentence.

“Using? No, no. I haven’t. I wouldn’t.”

The two men sit in silence, again, as Reid contemplates adding more to his answer. Derek sips at his cooling mug of tea, eyes down, knowing that if he’s going to get more out of Reid, he’s going to have to wait for him to say it himself.

“But, uh, I thought about it.” Reid’s voice is timid, almost apologetic. “I don’t know… you remember what it was like for me, when Emily died? Losing Gideon nearly broke me, but at least he was alive.” Derek nodded along, listening as Reid continued. “With Emily, I spent so many nights just holding the empty bottles of Dilaudid on the floor in my bathroom. I don’t really know, uh, why I kept them all this time? Maybe just to prove to myself that I could have them around and not actually use.” At that, Reid sets his mug down again, hands shaking too much to keep it steady.

“And when she came back, it almost hurt worse, but it helped me- because then I knew not to allow myself to get as _invested_ in people, because if death isn’t permanent, what is? We study and track death for a living, and yet it didn’t feel real. But then Maeve died. Right in front of me, so real that there was no way I could trick my subconscious into believing she’d come back. Because I saw all that blood, and the wound, and the color draining from her face. Just for a moment, really, I thought that the poetic response- not the rational one, but poetic nonetheless- would be to join her.” The pain in Reid’s voice is evident, and despite having predicted much of his answer, it still sent a chill through Derek’s bones.

Reid opens his mouth again, with a faint smile directed at himself. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about all the baskets Garcia was leaving me, and how eventually she’d get frustrated about my lack of response and break down my door, and I didn’t think she’d recover from seeing that.” He pauses there, letting his answers hang in the empty air.

“Okay,” Derek says, uncertain where his response will lead. “Well, pretty boy, you’re right about that- Garcia would’ve absolutely lost her shit. But besides that, I’m glad that you didn’t use the Dilaudid again. I know you don’t like talking about it… thank you.” Derek’s lips form a smile, and he can’t deny the slight feeling of pride that his brain is directing towards Reid. The man’s had a hefty string of losses thrown his way in the past few years, and being the youngest (and the smartest, no question there) member of the team hasn’t helped with those feelings of isolation. “I’m proud of you, kid. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Actually, since I didn’t get off the floor for the vast majority of the past few weeks, it wasn’t actually that bad, I mean I would’ve had to crawl to the bathroom, and find a syringe, and prep my arm, and… I digress.” Reid toys with his sweater sleeve again, as if the faded track marks on his skin light up at the mention of the drug. “I guess you’re right. I, uh, I’m glad you stayed. JJ and Garcia just keep asking questions, and I want to answer them, but I don’t think I know how.”

Derek takes this as a cue to stop talking about the drugs, and about Maeve. He stands, picking up both of their now-empty mugs and taking them back into the kitchen, filling them with warm water in the sink. On his way back into the living room, he notices an envelope for a DVD rental: _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ , the 1971 Gene Wilder version. It’s an odd choice, not something he would expect from Reid- he’s used to the profiler in question having more of an affinity to foreign-language films, or scientific documentaries. It’s probably something that Garcia left for him, but it’s a film Derek’s used to watch as a kid with his sister, so he carries it back to the couch with him.

Reid, whose head has been down since Derek left the room, looks up through his hair when the other man returns; he cracks a grin when he sees the film in his hand.

“Really?”

“Listen, man, it’s a classic. You’ve seriously never seen it?” Derek leans down in front of the television, sliding it into the DVD player as he thinks to himself: _Kid, no one uses DVDs anymore. We’ve gotta get you to join the 21st century one of these days._

“No, I haven’t! I spent my formative years getting teased for my age and my height. You think I had time for movies?” Reid’s statement is somewhat aggressive, but his voice laced with a smile, with no weight behind his words. Derek settles back into his spot on the couch as the opening credits light up the room, moving closer to Reid so there’s only one cushion between them instead of two.

~

The movie is light-hearted, exactly what they both needed on the somewhat-bleak Saturday night; the pair exchange laughs, primarily on Derek’s end as Reid calls out the inaccuracies of the film. He didn’t expect anything less.

When the ending credits roll, and the TV fades to black, Derek stands up to remove the DVD and re-insert it into the red plastic sleeve. By now, Reid has burrowed even deeper into his corner of the couch, aided by the grey-and-tan blanket draped around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he says softly, meeting Derek’s gaze as the older man slips his arms into the sleeves of his leather jacket. “This was… this was really nice.”

Derek smiles as Reid stands up beside him, moving closer into his narrow bubble of personal space. “No problem, pretty boy. So, Monday?” He knows that Reid probably isn’t exactly ready to be back at work, but he _did_ solve their case only a day ago. Even if his heart isn’t fully in it, his head certainly is.

“Monday.”

He gets ready to leave, grabbing his nearly-forgotten go-bag off of its spot near the door, but his eyes meet Reid’s again before he turns away. Before he can stop himself (and against his better judgement, since he’s all-too-familiar with Reid’s trauma-based touch aversion), he’s pulling Reid into his arms for a hug. Though he notices that the younger man’s already-thin frame is waning even further than before, his focus quickly shifts to the heat that radiates from Reid’s light, feathery touch on his back. One last glance is shared between them, their eyes lingering together for almost a moment too long, before Derek is gone.

The warmth stays under Reid’s skin long after Derek leaves.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reid's "back"- or at least, that's what he tells himself as he arrives at the FBI academy building on Monday morning.
> 
> well, we'll see how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: I know that I’m messing with some of the timeline here (like James Blake’s Harvard job and Hotch’s family drama), but it helps with the flow of the Reid/Morgan character study I’m working to build through these events.

## chapter two

The weekend passes uneventfully, which comes as a comfort to Morgan. He’s (and the rest of the BAU team) had enough collective trauma to last a lifetime, and in their line of work, it doesn’t show much sign of stopping. So, they take their moments of solace where they can find them.

For Morgan, that takes the form of an early morning run and a Sunday afternoon pre-occupied by restoration plans for his latest two-story brownstone in the Navy Yard district. After the happenings of Saturday night- both in terms of the wholeheartedly unpleasant hemophiliac case, and his unplanned movie night at Reid’s- he’s happy to have the distraction of load-bearing walls and satin-finish paint to fill his thoughts.

Well, he had  _ hoped _ they’d be filling his thoughts; instead, despite all his best efforts to keep his work-related mindset out of his weekend plans, the events of the prior night seemed to pop up every few minutes like clockwork.

Derek can’t deny his concern and empathy for Reid; the man had experienced a whirlwind of emotions in the past 10 months, and the way it ended ( _ with a bang _ , he remarks to himself) wouldn’t have been easy on anyone- much less someone with Reid’s affinity for facts over feelings. Their discussion about the Dilaudid (and its accompanying urges) certainly hadn’t assuaged his fears about his fellow agents condition. 

As he’s finishing up the paint on the molding of his latest project- the wainscoting around the private study on the first floor- he’s jarred out of his (albeit distracted) thoughts by a phone call.

“Hello, my shining hunk of FBI goodness,” Garcia’s voice chirps through the phone. “How are you doing on this fine Sunday? I missed you at brunch, but Kevin and I assumed you overslept. I know you were tired after this week’s case.”

He stills, the phone held to his ear in the crook of his neck while he sands at the wood baseboards with coarse paper. “Hey, baby girl. Sorry about that. Yeah, I woke up feeling pretty crappy and decided to just take it easy. I should’ve told you.” He omits that he woke up early, not late, and that his definition of “feeling crappy” takes the form of a mental fog rather than any sort of physical fatigue. His thoughts are occupied by uncertainty about the previous night’s events.

It’s moments like this where he wishes he had his resident genius around to help him figure all this out.

Except Reid’s the one who Derek can’t quite figure out.

The sound of Garcia replying to him brings him out of a long mental tangent about how much he wishes he had that kid’s brain sometimes. Maybe then he’d understand why he can’t stop thinking about the way Reid’s soft smiles (rare, but radiant) kept showing up in his dreams. 

_ Misplaced empathy _ , he almost can hear Reid saying to him.  _ The subconscious wants to solve problems that the conscious brain can’t quite understand _ .

“Well, you missed Kevin’s signature fried chicken and French toast, so I’ll consider that your loss. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll bring you leftovers tomorrow morning!” That’s the reason Garcia’s always been his best friend, and the ideal “work wife,” as Prentiss fondly referred to as the definition of their often-misjudged relationship. 

He pauses too long before responding, and he can hear her voice turn from snarky to concerned on the other end of the phone. “You okay over there, space cadet?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby girl, I’m doing fine. Just all up in my head today. I gotta sleep it off.” He knows he accidentally caught himself in a lie, since Garcia had wrongfully assumed he slept in, not woke up early. He hopes she won’t notice, but he knows better than that- she’s spent too much time around profilers not to notice the subtleties of Derek’s response. 

“Morgan, my ever-mysterious special agent. Something’s going on in that head of yours, and you and I both know I’ll figure it out soon. Until then, you better be careful if you’re trying to keep a secret from me. Garcia out!” The call cuts off abruptly, but Derek can hear Kevin talking in the background, and he smiles. Things have been unsteady at best between Garcia and Kevin since the “proposal that never came to be,” and he’s just glad to see them reconciling, somewhat. 

Plus, Kevin knows that Morgan could snap his neck in a heartbeat if he ever breaks Garcia’s heart again. 

The phone now safely inside his pocket again, he returns to the somewhat arduous task of sanding off the putrid-yellow paint from the dining-room baseboards. This time, he’s thankful for the monotony of his restoration work; his mind is a swirling whirlwind of thoughts, and if Garcia noticed it through the phone, his fellow profilers will certainly pick up on his “tells” during work tomorrow. 

But the thing is, even  _ he _ can’t figure out what’s going on. There’s just always been something about Reid that’s thrown Morgan off his game. Maybe it’s just the kid’s age, or how different the two seemed to be when they first met, or how, despite everything, they’ve become close friends. 

Or maybe, it’s the fact that sometimes he looks at Reid the way he looked at his ex-girlfriends.

And he can’t figure out  _ why _ .

~

Monday morning arrives with the shadow of a thunderstorm looming over the horizon, and it’s all a bit too close to the state of Reid’s internalized stress for comfort. He contemplates calling out sick again; he knows that Hotch will understand (and that his boss would prefer he take more time off, though he knows it won’t happen).

Somehow, however, he finds himself wiping the sleep from his eyes and slipping out of his heavily worn Cal Tech sweatpants in favor of a pair of dress slacks, a grey button-up, and one of his more “professional” looking sweaters, since it’s been getting a bit colder in D.C. lately.

Comfortable. Not just physically but mentally too, As he’s brushing his hair in the bathroom, however, it hits him: this sweater. He wore it the day of his first phone call with Maeve, the first time he heard her voice and his world stopped spinning. 

It hung in the closet, alone, ever since- save for their first almost-date, at that restaurant downtown. He knew that Maeve would’ve appreciated the sentimentality of it, wearing it for two of the most significant moments in their shared history.

But that was before.

This is the “After.”

So he finds himself in the kitchen, pouring hot water into his FBI-branded travel mug and tossing in a peppermint tea bag on the way out the door to the bus stop on the corner. His car is still parked in the underground deck, and although part of him wants to drive himself to work, his hands are shaking enough to jostle his mug of tea. He knows the statistics about auto accidents caused by anxiety-related fatigue, and he’d prefer not to roll the dice.

~

The coffee cart right outside the FBI Academy Building has become somewhat of a “gossip corner” for the BAU team, and it’s never more popular than the Monday following a stressful case. As predicted, JJ and Garcia are there bright and early, joined by Rossi as they sip their coffees- a cappuccino for Rossi, while JJ and Garcia both drink their frozen mocha-caramel blenders. JJ’s not a fan of the sweetness, but Garcia claims the brainfreeze is “totally worth it.”

Rossi leans up against the brick ledge, balancing his work phone in one hand and his half-full coffee in the other; despite the events of the previous week, it’s only a matter of time before Hotch pages them to the round-table room for a new case. 

_ The craziness never stops, I suppose _ , he thinks to himself.

“Anyone heard from Reid?” He asks his two coworkers, knowing that they probably talk to the younger profiler more than he does. There’s no tension between them, even though Rossi did fill the void (at least in terms of the job) of the man’s pseudo-father figure, Jason Gideon. 

Garcia, whose head is buried in JJ’s phone as the pair looks at recent photos of Henry and Will at the park, perks up at the sound of her friend’s name. “Well, we were at his place on Saturday with Morgan, seems like he’s doing a little better at least.”

“We helped him clean up the apartment a bit, I guess Morgan left a bit after we did? Garcia’s got him pretty stocked up on comfort food, but I know he’s felt a bit closed in at his apartment lately, so it was good to see him,” JJ added, shifting the weight between her feet as she thinks back on Saturday night. Reid seemed… different, but after what he went through with Maeve, she was just glad to see his face again. 

“Is he coming in for work today?” Rossi wondered; though the young profile had joined them on their recent case, that wasn’t a guarantee that he’d be back at full capacity. “Hotch offered him another two weeks of time off, but I know the kid’s not a fan of resting…” 

JJ laughs at Rossi’s statement of the obvious; though Reid was definitely emotionally overwhelmed by joining them earlier the week in San Francisco, he seemed to thrive under the pressure of the case. Plus, without his realization of the unsub’s hemophiliac condition, they might not have been able to save his last victim from a seriously unpleasant fate. The team needed him, no doubt about that.

Rossi’s question still hung in the air, all three pondering their responses, when the Green-line bus pulled up to the corner and the answer walked out. 

It was Reid- albeit, his hair slightly tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep. 

But Reid, nonetheless. 

Garcia was first to notice, squealing and clip-clopping in her platform pink heels towards him (her drink forgotten next to Rossi). “Reid! Reid! You’re here!” She engulfs him into a hug, the tall man caught off guard but not altogether surprised by her greeting.

“Hey, Garcia,” he says into her hair, pulling away quickly. “Yep, I’m here.”

The two walk back over to the coffee cart, and Garcia is about to order Reid his typical coffee order (large coffee, no cream, far too many sugars) when she notices the metal travel mug already in his hand. “Made coffee at home today?” she asks.

“Nope, tea. Trying to, uh, cut back on the caffeine,” Reid responds, voice softer than before as Rossi and JJ approach him. 

“More like you didn’t want to waste time opening 50 sugar packets for your coffee this morning, huh?” Rossi jokes, clapping the younger man on the back with a smile. “Good to see you back, kid.” He means it, genuinely- they hadn’t spent much time together on the case a few days prior, but his energy (nervous, somewhat frenetic energy at that) was certainly missed.

“Yeah, uh. It’s good to be here.” Reid’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he walks towards the entrance of the building. JJ links her arm in his as the small group moves towards the elevator, stopped in their tracks by the cacophony of their phones going off in tandem.

“It’s Hotch,” Garcia calls out. “We’ve got a case!”

_ Time to get back to work _ , Reid thinks.  _ No rest for the wicked- or the broken-hearted. _

~

Morgan arrived at the office early, hoping to meet Garcia at her lair and catch up on the weekend’s events. He  _ had _ missed spending Sunday morning with her for their standing brunch date, but his head wasn’t in the game for most of the day. His morning run time was weak, and though he made some solid progress on the dining and living room restoration of his current project, he just felt  _ off _ .

But, despite Garcia typically coming into work earlier than any other member of the team (she was fond of reviewing the open case files and getting a head start on the background data pulls), Morgan found himself the first BAU agent in the bullpen, besides Hotch in his office. That didn’t bode well for his hopes of a simple, uneventful Monday morning. He was just glad he’d gotten a better night of sleep last night, than after the events of Saturday, since if the volume of Hotch’s voice on the conference call was any indication, they wouldn’t be staying in Quantico for long.

That was reason enough for Morgan to head into the break room and start making a pot of coffee; the team would certainly need it. They all kept a few of their own mugs at the office, just to minimize their paper-cup waste, and when Morgan reached into the cabinet to grab his favorite plaid mug, Reid’s Doctor Who mug stared him right in the face.

_ Reid _ , Morgan thought to himself.  _ What’re we gonna do about you? _

He knew that the younger profiler would be at work today- it was only a matter of time before he grew too stir-crazy in his own apartment to stay. And besides, he promised Morgan he’d come; he wasn’t too fond of breaking those promises.

The coffee machine now whistling with life, Morgan poured himself a cup and added a small pack of caramel-flavored creamer. No one was around to judge him for not drinking his coffee black- besides, only Emily and Gideon ever did. Garcia typically just laughed at his affinity for caramel sweeteners and made some sort of suggestive joke about it. And Reid had no footing to stand on here; his “coffee” mostly just consisted of granulated sugar and a  _ hint _ of espresso.

Somehow, his thoughts kept drifting back to Reid. Guess he was more worried about his partner ( _ work _ partner, he emphasized) than he thought. 

Coffee now in hand, he made his way back into the bullpen just as Blake sat down at her desk. “Hey, Derek,” she said, eyes still focused on the morning crossword. “Have a good weekend?”

He was glad to see Blake; though she was still somewhat an outsider on the team, she was an exemplary agent and a pretty decent conversationalist (though, what else would you expect from a linguistics professor?).

“Yeah, I stayed busy. You?”

“Oh, I went up to Boston to visit James for the weekend after we landed. He’s busy with midterms, but we had a good day or so together,” Blake shared, placing the newspaper on top of her desk. “So, you and JJ went to see Reid, huh? He seemed… better, out in San Fran.”

Morgan smiled; it’s become common, people asking him about Reid. “Yeah, we went with Garcia, helped him pick the place up a bit. He said he’d be here today.” Blake smiles at that; she’d grown closer to Reid than nearly anyone else on the team, and his presence had been sorely missed.

As if summoned by Morgan’s words, the elevator outside the bullpen dings, and JJ, Garcia, Rossi, and Reid ( _ Reid _ , emphasizes his brain) pour out, laughter carrying into the open room. Derek stands, finding himself drawn towards Reid’s work station. They spent so many mornings there, cracking jokes and playing pranks on the rest of the team (often with Garcia’s help).

But that was before. He’s glad to see Reid back in the office, but he’s not sure if things will ever be the same again.

Reid moves towards him, and his mouth drops open, as if about to say something to the older profiler leaning against his desk. But before he can (and maybe that’s a good thing, since even  _ he _ can’t figure out the thoughts overwhelming his brain), Hotch pokes his head out of the round table room. “Guys? No time for pleasantries this morning. We have work to do.”

~

The case Hotch presents is, as they tend to be, unpleasant- and that’s putting it lightly. Four missing women in their early 30s have been found during the past few weeks, all dressed in hospital gowns and at various stages of injury from what appear to be failed brain surgeries. A fifth victim was taken only 12 hours ago, matching the brunette, bookish appearances of the earlier four. All victims were taken from various locations in northern Ohio, but there’s not much else in the case file.

“We’ll be leaving in about 30 minutes; the most recent abduction was last night, and since it seems like the victims are being killed within 2-5 days of going missing, we don’t have a lot of time. It took a while for Cleveland P.D. to call us in for the case; their detectives initially assumed the women were escaped patients from local psychiatric wards. But the high profile nature of the fifth victim- she’s the mayor’s niece, just finishing up her doctorate at Case Western Reserve- is what prompted their lead detective, Officer Bryant, to call us in. Victimology might be our greatest asset here, but we need to get on the ground before we make any real determinations. Reid, since this is your first real case back, I’ll have you stationed at the P.D. working on the geographic profile when we land.” Hotch finishes, the images of the four initial victims still on the large conference room screen. “I’ll see you guys on the jet. Wheels up in 30.”   
  
At that, Agent Hotchner is already on his way out of the room, with barely a second glance at his team. He knows his fellow agents have been through a lot lately (and that’s saying something, given their line of work), but he’s no stranger to the awkward silences and family dynamics amongst them. As he leaves, conversations erupt- mostly centered around Reid’s reappearance.

“Welcome back to paradise, junior G-man,” Garcia jokes, gathering the files on the table. “We knew you couldn’t stay away.”

Reid smiles at that, still somewhat lost in the details of the case; his mental wheels are already turning about the possible “comfort zone” of their unsub, but he can’t shake the uncomfortable resemblance between the five victims- and Maeve.

It’s a coincidence, he’s sure of it, but having the first case he’s full-time on since his leave of absence focused on brilliant dark-haired women around his age? It hits a bit closer to home than he’s comfortable with.

The rest of the team is already heading for the door, but Morgan lingers next to Reid. “You doing ok, man?”

He looks down at his partner, the younger agent shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, uh, I’ll be okay. Just getting back into the swing of things.” It’s not a lie, not really, but it’s a bit of a deflection of the question.

“I just wanted to check, since you seem a little spaced out today. Sleeping okay?” Morgan’s trying not to push the issue, but Reid seemed off throughout the case briefing. “I’m not trying to insult your intelligence or anything, but there’s no way I’m the only one who noticed the, uh,  _ aesthetic _ similarities….” His voice trails off, hoping Reid can fill in the blanks.

“Between the victims and Maeve? Yeah. I know.” Reid’s response is very matter-of-fact, but he doesn’t answer Morgan’s question about his sleeping patterns, and he knows the man well enough to know that the diversion was intentional. “I, uh, I’ll see you on the plane.”

Without giving Morgan a chance to respond, Reid stands up, pushes his chair back under the table, and leaves. Only the slight scent of peppermint- his tea, just like Saturday night- remains as Morgan stands in place, taken aback.

~

Seated comfortably on the plane across from Reid, Morgan stares at the younger man, still trying to figure out what’s going on inside his head. Yes, the victims’ appearances look somewhat like Maeve, but Reid’s smart enough to know it’s coincidental rather than intentional. There’s gotta be something else going on.

_ Is Reid still thinking about Saturday? _

Nothing  _ happened _ , nothing that would cause this sort of reaction in the profiler. It’s like Reid’s avoiding him, which hasn’t happened since Gideon and the Dilaudid. But he knows that’s not it- Reid promised he wasn’t using, and he knows the man wouldn’t lie. It’s just- he’s not used to Reid ignoring him.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of someone saying his name, repeatedly; and, as luck would have it, it’s Reid.

“Morgan? Are you in there? We’re looking at the P.D. files, and you know this jargon better than I do. The lead detective labeled the first four victims as EDP.” Reid has a map spread out on the table between them, with the case files in his hands.

“Uh, right. It’s ‘emotionally disturbed person.’ If they were working an ‘escaped crazy-person’ theory, that’s probably what they assumed about the first few deaths. Pretty typical with overworked P.D.’s like this- too many cases, not enough personnel, so they slap on the most obvious labels and shelve it away,” Morgan explains, before he realizes he’s rambling and stops.

“Got it, thanks,” Reid says, making a note in the file with his pen. “So, uh, you going to take some time and go see your family in Chicago after the case? It’s about a five hour drive in the wrong direction, but I bet you could convince Hotch to lend you the jet if you ask  _ really  _ nicely.” There’s a slight lilt to his voice, and it’s a welcome surprise for Morgan. 

He’s thinking about just  _ how _ much he missed having Reid on the case with him, his mind wandering into the no-man’s-land that he’s been avoiding for the past 24 hours, when he realizes Reid’s still expecting an answer.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. I saw my mom and sisters a few weeks ago when I had a weekend off, and I think my body’s jet-lagged enough after San Francisco to not risk it for now. Thanks for thinking about them, though,” Morgan adds, deciding if he can push his luck with his next statement. “You know, uh, Sarah and Desi really enjoyed meeting you a few years ago. They ask me about you sometimes.”

It’s true- of course it is, Morgan wouldn’t lie to his partner, and his sisters did seem to like Reid all those years ago during the Carl Buford case- but he can’t deny that he said it just to get a reaction out of Reid.

The man in question sputters, surprising himself (and Morgan) by laughing loudly. “Uh, did they? That’s good, I think. They offered me a lot of food to take with me, and they didn’t take no for an answer. They were really nice, though,” Reid says with a smile, adding softly: “like you.”

Morgan grins at that, before he can stop himself. 

“Thanks, pretty boy. It’s good to have you back.”

They don’t talk much for the rest of the plane ride, but as they descend after only 50 minutes, the tension in the air has dissipated. Reid’s lost in his thoughts again, but with less of a furrowed brow than usual.

And as they get off the plane, if Morgan drifts close enough to Reid for their shoulders to bump, exchanging smiles as they walk, well…

No one needs to know.


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if it hurts, well, i deserved it // if it works, it will have been worth it (the end, jackson mcafee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for how dialogue-heavy this chapter is, i wanted to beef up the content of the bau's case this week and dialogue certainly helped with that.  
> as always, i love comments and feedback  
> (side note, the song in this chapter's summary is part of a recent ep by a friend of mine!)

### ~chapter three~

 _There may be no other constants in my life,_ Reid thought to himself as he mulled over a grid-based map of Cleveland, Ohio, red pen in hand. _But, at the very least, I know what to expect from my job_.

The statement sounded weird, even in his own head; after all, hunting serial killers and profiling family annihilators didn’t exactly fit the bill of consistency. Even still, the past 9 years with the team had shown him that despite all the multitude of horrors the world had to offer, they all, eventually, could be profiled, solved, and filed into “Solved” case boxes in the FBI Headquarters basement archives. This case, too, would be a distant memory in only a matter of months.

At least, that’s what Reid was telling himself, photos of eerie likenesses to his dead girlfriend hanging on the whiteboard next to him. 

He was thankful, to a degree, that Hotch had assigned him to the geographical profile as his first task on the case. The reasoning was likely two-fold. Since it was his first case back after his time on professional leave, he was a liability in terms of in-field work, and his people skills weren’t really up to the challenge. And, though Hotch would likely never admit to it, he knew better than to send Reid to the medical examiner’s office to look over the bodies.

After all, despite the instinctually-rational tendencies of Reid’s thought processes, he was a grieving man. Hotch knew too well what that felt like, and he wasn’t going to put Reid through that pain too (at least, not if he could help it). 

He was making some decent headway with establishing the geographical profile, at the very least- the first two victims were taken along the downtown Cleveland bus route, the third outside a coffee shop on the outskirts of town, and the fourth from her college dorm room parking deck. The fifth, and hopefully the last, victim went missing on her walk back from a Chemistry Club meeting at Case Western. If they were able to figure out the unsub’s target zone, it would hopefully help them pinpoint where he might be taking and torturing the victims- his secret lair, so to speak.

The main issue, however, was that the lack of concrete information about the four initial victims (the Cleveland P.D. had all but dismissed the hazy connections between the deaths due to lack of manpower on the case) meant that much of the case relied on understanding the fifth victim- and of course, she wasn’t exactly available for an interview. That meant Garcia was digging into her background, credit card history, and phone records- and occasionally telling Reid about her findings, via the conference-room phone on the “speaker” setting on the table next to him.

“My brilliant Dr. Reid, you with me?” She asks him, voice so unexpected that Reid nearly smudges his pen across the map.

“Yep, I’m here, what’ve you got?” The Cleveland P.D. team is milling in the background, but Reid tunes them out; they’ve been less than helpful so far- especially in terms of how long it took for them to call for federal support.

Garcia’s typing could be heard in the background of the call as she rattled off a litany of facts about their missing victim. “So, one Margaret Campbell, ‘Meg’ for short. Age 31, top of her class in her undergraduate programs at Vassar. Well-liked, seemed to be a pretty decent person all things considered, just a couple parking tickets- speeding, and one overdue meter charge. A couple boyfriends, nothing serious, and none in Cleveland at the time of the abduction.”

Reid nodded, scrawling notes on the legal pad next to his map as she continued.

“She was studying behavioral neuroscience, research-focused rather than surgery, and she had 1 year to go before completing her program. Nothing in her texts indicates any suspicious or altered activity, nothing that would normally raise red flags. But I am _superior_ when it comes to the non-normal variant of red flags.” Chuckling, Reid stood up from the table and moved closer to the white board and grabbed a dry erase marker, adding some of his notes to the display board.

“Here’s the thing, sweet-cheeks. I had assumed there was a financial link between the victims, since the first four weren’t exactly high-rollers- 1 was on food stamps and government assistance, and the other three seemed like they were struggling to make ends meet. But Meg? Like we said, her dad’s the mayor’s brother. So she might not be Cleveland government royalty, but she’s certainly within a stone’s throw. Daddy Campbell covered her rent, living expenses, and the like. She worked a couple of jobs, mostly grant-based research, though it seemed like it was mostly just for spending money. Meg took a couple of trips out to Chicago with her girlfriends, but not in the past 6 months. She’s honestly just a pretty ordinary girl, and the pretty part isn't just a metaphor. Girl was gorgeous, the boys knew it, and she didn’t really have time for any of them.” Garcia trails off, Reid filling in the blanks with his subconscious.

“You and Morgan have been talking about their similarities to Maeve, right?” Reid asks, marker still in hand as he adds question marks to the end of Meg Campbell’s name. Garcia’s silence gives him the answer he needs. “I figured. Just, uh, let it go, alright?” He hopes that his somber, unsteady tone will sound like grief to Garcia, and though that’s part of it, it’s mostly annoyance.

This job is the only thing that’s holding him together, and it’s harder for it to do that when everyone around him won’t stop talking about the thing that’s tearing him apart.

Well, _one_ of the only things that’s holding him together. 

Reid reflected back on his weekend, which now felt so far away from where he stood in Cleveland. It had been rough, re-joining the team in the middle of a case, and they had barely solved it in time- even with his help. But after, when Morgan and JJ and Garcia came to his apartment, he felt like he was finding his footing.

Morgan, in particular, seemed to be offering him just the sort of foundation he was missing. He only wished that Morgan’s partner-in-crime, Garcia, would pick up on Morgan’s subtlety in approaching the loss of Maeve. 

He knew everyone on the team was thinking about it- wondering how he’d handle the case this week, how he was dealing with his grief. He saw Rossi’s uncertain gaze towards the gun strapped to his belt, Hotch’s hesitation as he climbed the steps into the jet that morning. He knew they were probably just waiting for him to break.

But, if he had been able to hold it together until Diane and his lover were dead on the ground (after all, once she fired that shot, all bets were off), he could certainly hold his own on a completely new case, with only superficial ties to his own reality. 

“You got it, my knight in shining sweater-vests. Talk to you later?” Reid smiles, turning a faint shade of pink at her endless flirtatious nicknames as he hits the “end” button on the center call receiver.

Alone with his thoughts once again, he turns back to the dry-erase board in front of him. So few connections between the victims, but there had to be _something_ linking them together.

And Reid was going to be the one to find it. 

~

Only about 10 miles away from the station, Hotch and Morgan stand over to the 4 victims in the medical examiner’s office, taking notes of the similarities between the bodies. The young morgue assistant, scribbling on her chart nearby, keeps peering at them from behind her clipboard.

“So, uh, we were gonna just ship the bodies out to our storage facility this morning… I guess it’s a good thing you called!” She moved around nervously, handwritten name-tag reading ‘Vivi’ hanging on by a thread. “We just rolled ‘em back in here for you. So, see anything cool?”

Hotch and Morgan exchanged a subtle look at each other, tinged with confusion and a bit of irritability. The team leader spoke first, voice stern.

“Not cool, exactly. Would you mind clearing the room? We’d like to start a phone conference with the rest of our team and need some privacy.” Morgan knew Hotch’s statement was a lie, intended to get the hovering medical student to leave, and he smiled softly.

“And, please leave your report with us. We’ll be sending it to our technical analyst,” Hotch added, tacking a soft “Thank you” to the end of his sentence.

Luckily, the young medical assistant seemed to take the hint, and she scurried out of the room- nearly knocking over a canister filled with what appeared to be blood samples from the victims in her path. As the door shut behind her, Morgan picked up the stack of files, beginning to parse through the fourth victim’s tox-screen and bodily reports.

“Okay, that girl seemed _way_ too into dead bodies for my taste,” Morgan said with a laugh. “Kinda like Reid without the actual smarts, you know?”

Hotch looked up from his phone, from which he was sending images of the files to Garcia, and smiled. He hadn’t been doing it consciously, but he noticed that this was Morgan’s third mention of the nerdiest member of their team in the past hour.

“Something like that. So, all four of them have long dark brown or black hair, but it’s been shaved off- some sort of gender-based ritual, maybe? But it looks too surgical to just be symbolic; it was probably just a necessary step of whatever medical procedure the unsub performed on them,” Hotch hypothesized. Right on cue, Garcia answered his phone call, which he placed on the speaker setting on a nearby table.

“Garcia, what information do you see in the M.E. files I just sent you? We need to narrow down what he was trying to do with the surgeries.”

Their technical analyst answered back eagerly. “Alright, boss-man, a few things. So, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the word ‘inconclusive’ printed in a medical report more frequently until today; seriously, it’s _all_ up in here. It seems like, at least in the first two victims, the brain was completely hacked to pieces. But it gets weirder.”

Morgan tilted his head at that. “Weirder? What’re you trying to tell us? I didn’t finish reading the files, so tell me more about the cause of death.”

“Okay, that’s part of the ‘weirder’ that I was telling you about, if only you’d let me finish, speed demon. It looks like all of the four girls were knocked out with a super heavy dose of the anaesthetic the unsub used for these surgeries, if you could call these super macabre slash-and-dash procedures _surgeries_. It’s probably just an offense to the entire field of medicine, but I digress. By the third and fourth victims, he seemed to get some better medical books or something, because his pokey-fingers in their brains were more concentrated around the frontal, temporal, and parietal lobes of the brain,” Garcia rattled off, exhaling heavily. “But like I said, even stranger things are just around the corner. The fifth victim, the one that’s still missing? She’s working on her doctorate at Case Western nearby.”

“So, any connection between Case Western and the original victims? Not sure I’m following your thought process here, sweetness,” Morgan says with a smile. Though much of his thoughts have been preoccupied with waves of uncertain emotions, something about his job always seems to get his focus back on track. (Which, now that he thinks about it, is somewhat uncomfortable- murder shouldn’t be a constant in anyone’s life, but somehow, it is for him and his team.)

“No, no no. Man, for a BAU profiler, Morgan, you can be _pretty_ stupid. Okay, get this- Meg Campbell, our unsub’s latest steal, is getting her doctorate in _neurology_. Specifically, behavioral neuroscience with a focus in cognitive neurological research. Yes, yes I can hear you all gasping and applauding the brilliant connection I just led you both too; I can’t take all the credit, since Dr. Reid did a good deal of the work, but still. I’m the messenger, and you love me for it. TTYL!” Garcia hung up quickly, but Hotch seemed puzzled by her ending language.

“It’s ‘talk to you later,’ man. Text speak. Anyway, So I’ve kinda got two working theories going on here,” Morgan said, slipping the four files into his bag. “Wanna make our way back to the station and talk it out? JJ texted, she and Rossi are finishing up at Meg Campbell’s apartment, and they’ll give us their info when they see us next. Blake is also heading back there, she picked up the other victims’ computers so that Garcia can run traces on their data.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The pair made their way out of the cold, sterile processing room, Hotch grabbing the keys to the Suburban from his pocket. He, too, was formulating a few ideas, but after spending so much time working separately in the past few years- JJ’s pregnancy and stint at the Pentagon, the team’s loss (and eventual re-gain) of Prentiss, and even his own brief interlude in the Middle East- he had come to realize that they worked best together.

And now, with Reid back on the team after his personal leave, they were together once again.

~

All seven members of the BAU team- JJ, Rossi, Blake, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid (plus Garcia, via web-cam on Reid’s laptop)- now sat around the oblong table in a back room of the Cleveland P.D., files and Chinese takeout boxes spread out across the surface. A couple of hours had passed- one of the four earlier victims had some pretty tough security on her laptop (as a result of a pre-law, anti-establishment boyfriend) that Garcia had to dig through- but, finally, their theories were taking shape.

“Here’s what I’ve got so far.” Reid stood up from the table, moving towards the white-board with the photos of all five victims. “Four victims, not really high- or low- risk in particular, so that didn’t give us much of anything. It’s the fifth victim, Meg, that blows the case wide open.”

JJ and Blake exchange a laugh, enjoying how much energy shone through Reid’s voice as he starts drawing red lines across the white-board.

“She’s a neuroscience student, at the end of her doctorate, so she’s pretty well-set on her final thesis topics. As Garcia told Morgan and Hotch, she’s focused on cognitive neuroscience and neuro-linguistical research, which is, unfortunately, probably a bit too wide for us to get any real leads from. _However_ ,” he posits, turning back to face the rest of his team. “She allows us to see this case in two very different ways. Theory one: she could just be another victim, and the unsub is gaining confidence by moving on to a more high-profile target, since she’s related to the mayor. Plus, there’s the- albeit pretty screwed up- irony of a neuroscience student being subjected to some sort of Mengele-esque brain surgery experiments, so….” his voice trails off, eyes drawn back to the photos of the victims on the board.

“Or,” Morgan stands up, deciding to take over as he can see Reid’s focus slipping. “There’s a slightly- and I’m using that word gently- more unpleasant option. She _is_ a student of neurology, as the good Dr. Reid was telling us.” That elicits a soft laugh from Reid, who now sits and sips his coffee. “So, it’s possible that she’s not a victim, and she could be a more willing participant. The brain quadrants that the unsub is cutting into? They focus on cognitive processing, memories, and dreams- it’s not an exact science, but it _does_ correspond to Meg Campbell’s field of study.”

Blake looked up at that, puzzled. “What we’re saying is that she’s not a victim, she’s a perpetrator?”

“That’s part of it,” Rossi replies. “Hopefully, if she doesn’t turn up dead in the next two days, that means we’re on the right track. Then again, the unsub does seem to be abducting victims at a higher rate now, probably just demonstrating an increase in confidence. We need to dig more into Campbell’s whereabouts during the disappearances of the earlier four victims. Maybe we can rule her out as a suspect instead of ruling her in. Garcia?”

Their analyst pauses in her typing when her name is called. “Yes, boss, I’m on it. It’s getting kind of late here, so I’ll probably email the details to your phones and tablets instead of calling. Good luck in the Forest City tonight, team!”

Hotch is the first to move, flipping through his phone. “She’s right, it’s just past 1am now. Detective Bryant’s got us housed at a hotel only a few blocks away, so we can just leave the cars here and walk over.”

“What’s the room situation looking like?” JJ asked. She’s become more uncomfortable with rooming with other members of the team since the initial loss of Emily- the two had always been close, and JJ was hesitant to allow any of the other members to slip into any sort of “replacement” role.

“Ah, was hoping you wouldn’t ask,” Rossi responded. “Three rooms. I know, not great, I even tried to throw some of my hotel points at them to upgrade us to four at the least, but they’re booked up. I’m thinking, me and Hotch, you and Blake, Derek and Reid?”

Reid, who seemed to be tuned out of the conversation, eyes trained on his copy of Gogol’s ‘Dead Souls,’ blinked and raised his head at the mention of his name. “Oh, uh, sounds good. Right, Morgan?” His words were steady, but his voice was not.

Luckily, the rest of the team were already shouldering their bags and heading towards the door, Rossi leading the way. He was the most well-traveled of the team, and somehow, he even knew his way around downtown Cleveland, as luck would have it.

“Hey, pretty boy, grab your stuff and let’s get out of here. It’s late, and no offense, but you look like hell.” Morgan tapped on Reid’s shoulder, smiling down at him. “Come on, let’s go.”

Reid still looked somewhat hesitant, but nonetheless, he stood up and slid his book back into his shoulder bag. “Okay, yeah. I’m ready.”

Morgan held the door open for him, flipping off the light on his way out. Rossi and the rest of the team were already a block past them on the way to the hotel, but, as Hotch had promised, it was only a few blocks away, so he led them easily to the building and towards the elevator. Reid, however, hung back.

“Can we, uh, take the stairs? Just not too keen on small spaces right now,” Reid said softly.

His coworker laughed. “Still thinking about that elevator we got stuck in a few years ago? Yea, I knew you were scared. Sure, I’ll race ya.” Morgan took off up the stairs to the third floor, Reid walking slower behind him. 

They didn’t talk in the stairwell, but once on the third floor, Morgan led his younger friend to room 314, expecting some sort of Pi-related joke from him that didn’t come. Regardless, he unlocked the door with the electronic key card, swinging it open and allowing Reid to enter first.

The younger man made his way to the bed closest to the window, dropping his leather bag on it and moving to open the blinds despite it being past midnight. 

“I’m gonna hop in the shower, kid. See you in the morning.” Morgan moved into the bathroom and turned on the water, hoping to clean off some of the grime that he always felt on his skin after visiting medical examiners’ offices. His shower was nice, if not slightly lacking on the water pressure, but he toweled off quickly and made his way back into the room.

Where, surprisingly, Reid still sat awake on his bed, facing away from him.

“Can’t sleep?” Morgan asked, suddenly feeling somewhat under-dressed in just a towel around his waist. He went to grab a shirt and sweats from his bag, but then, Reid turned around.

And, only then did Morgan notice the tears staining Reid’s pale face. 


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes, it's not just sleep that makes your eyes get heavy and your body feel weak.
> 
> it's a silly time to learn to swim when you start to drown // it's a silly time to learn to swim on the way down  
> (my number - tegan and sara)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! (she says, realizing that it's been a week since the last chapter posting.)
> 
> seriously, i really appreciate knowing that y'all are enjoying this so far. it's really becoming a work that i'm proud of, and i hope you continue to like it.

###  **~chapter four~**

This time, it’s Morgan who feels like the air around him stands still. 

He’s seen Reid cry before, seen the younger man of periods of anguish, loss, and pain. Thinking about it, it’s happened an uncomfortable amount of times: after Tobias Hankel, when Gideon left, the murder of Haley, the uncertainty of his own mother, and, most recently, after Maeve.

So many moments, and such insurmountable grief. Above everything else, Morgan wished- perhaps selfishly- he could make all of those memories fade for Reid. Because yes, while he’s nearly completely-certain that the tears Reid shed right now fall for Maeve, he can’t deny that they were likely influenced by everything that came before her too.

_ Shared and collective trauma infiltrates all _ , he thinks. Reid told him about those psychological concepts back during one of their cases so many years ago, when he and Emily went undercover into Benjamin Cyrus’s compound.  _ Pain persists, and spreads like a virus, until everyone around it falls ill to sorrow. _

And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling at least a little sick right now.

As Reid’s eyes finally meet his, though, he realizes he’s been frozen in place- towel now sitting dangerously low on his hips. He starts to stutter out an apology, turning back into the bathroom with his clothes in hand and shutting the door behind him.

  
Once he’s out of view, Morgan rests his head against the back of the door and sighs.  _ Man oh man, what on earth have I gotten myself into _ . It had already been a long day, and not a particularly productive one at that- the team hadn’t made much progress with the case, and it felt like a waiting game they had little chance of winning. And now, he had just walked out nearly naked into a cramped hotel room where his partner was crying.

Yet, somehow, he decided his best course of action was simply to leave the room. He shook his head at that, sliding his faded navy blue t-shirt over his head and stepping into his grey, fraying sweatpants as he attempted to clear his head. 

No matter how much his own thoughts seemed to form a swirling storm of confusion, he knew he needed to be there for Reid.

Giving himself a final once-over in the mirror- and damn, if he hadn’t realized how tired he was already, the darkened circles under his eyes certainly would’ve proved it- he swung open the door and made his way back into the room.

Reid, who likely hadn’t moved a muscle since Morgan entered, exited, and re-entered the room, still sat on the edge of his bed. His eyes were red, and though his tears had stopped falling, the tightness visible in his shoulders told Morgan that none of his anxiety had faded.

“Hey, kid. What’s going on?” Morgan’s first words are calculated, simple. There’s a thousand things he thinks to say, maybe even wants to say more than he can explain, but he settles for two short sentences- five words, nothing more. Reid’s response is soft, and just as hesitant as his body language.

“I, uh, nothing,” Reid exhales. “Just… I couldn’t sleep.” The young man twists his fingers while he talks, tension lacing his words and every movement too. “How was, um- how was your shower?”

Morgan’s thoughts are still lost in the clouds, but the raise in Reid’s voice- signifying that he’s asking a question- jolts him out of the haze. “It was good, thanks man. Water pressure’s pretty nice if you feel like hopping in in the morning…” He fades off, and the two settle into a not-exactly-comfortable silence as Morgan sits down on his own bed, fluffing up the pillow behind him. “Wanna talk about it?”   


He knows it’s likely that Reid will say no- they’ve been friends, and coworkers, for roughly 10 years now, and while they’ve shared plenty of emotionally-charged moments in that time, their discussions rarely center on their own feelings- and, in the past 10+ months of Reid’s relationship with Maeve (and its untimely end), their overall interactions have subsided significantly.

But Reid hasn’t ever really fit into Morgan’s generalizations or assumptions, after all.

“Actually, yes, I think that would be nice. Can we, uh..” Reid gestures to the couch along the far wall of the hotel room. At first Morgan is puzzled, but when Reid gets off his bed and curls up against one side of the cushions, he too gets up, and joins his teammate on the (somewhat scratchy-  _ not sure what I expected from a last-minute hotel reservation _ , he thinks) couch.

Morgan settles in, grabbing the blanket laid behind him and draping it over his legs. He’s not cold, per se, but a bit uneasy; Reid almost grabs the other end of the large blanket, but he pulls his hand back, once again wringing his hands together.

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Reid admits, and Morgan almost laughs out loud.

“Yeah, pretty boy-” Morgan notices Reid’s form relax slightly, almost imperceptibly at the pet name. “No offense, but that’s probably the most obvious thing I’ve ever heard you say. What’s been keeping you up?” He knows the answer will most likely be Maeve; after all, the kid’s only ever real relationship partner (well, “relationship” used loosely, since they spent less than 24 hours in person together in a 10-month span) was brutally murdered in front of him, but still. Reid’s faced upheavals and loss before, and something just feels different.

“It’s just… I’ve read Van der Kolk’s textbooks, I know the science of trauma theory, and the psychological principles of external stressors and internal reactions, and I understand it, you know? I could quote every single word of his research, and I’ve seen it in action in more cases than I can count,” Reid says, voice starting to get frantic.

“So, I  _ know _ what I’m feeling, and I know why it’s happening, because I watched someone I liked-” His voice cracks. “Someone I  _ loved _ die in front of me, and it hasn’t been nearly enough time for my brain to forget, much less my body. But normally I can just, I don’t know, turn it off? Turn down the volume in my brain, disassociate and ground myself, whatever.” Reid sighs, brushing his fingers against the newly-fallen tears that stream down his face. “I go to sleep and I see her. I’m awake, and I see her. I work this case, and I see her. And… and it’d be one thing if it was just her. I could live with seeing her face in my head, but that’s not it. Every time I see her, it’s her and Diane, dead on the ground. And...and....” 

Reid’s hands are shaking now, and without thinking, Derek reaches out and envelopes them with his own. 

“Alright, slow down there, kid. Just breathe, okay? I know, it’s a lot. I can’t imagine, really, what you’re feeling. I mean… I’ve lost people, too many to count, but…” He fades, feeling Reid’s cold fingers pull away from his own.

“But they’ve never been shot in front of you.” Reid’s voice is biting, harsh against the soft angles of his tear-ridden face. 

Morgan stalls, at that. “Shit, Reid. I’m sorry.” His hands return to their place in his lap, atop the soft red blanket. “I shouldn’t have acted like I understood what you’re going through. I can’t imagine.”

Looking between them, Reid notices that Morgan has pulled himself even farther away, and he pales slightly. “No- Morgan. I’m sorry. I know you’ve had losses too, I didn’t mean to imply… it’s just- it’s hard. It’s not just Maeve. It’s not the only thing that’s keeping me from REM sleep.”

The older man tilts his head, confused for the first time. “What do you mean? Did something else happen?” He closes his eyes, praying- the kid’s been through enough ( _ more than enough _ , he emphasizes in his head) in the past year. Hell, they all have, and he’s not sure Reid can take much more of it.

“No, uh. Nothing happened, at least not really? Nothing tangible, at least,” Reid responds, and Morgan’s shoulders relax slightly. “It’s not just seeing Maeve in my head, I guess. I don’t, uh- I don’t think I know who I am anymore, Morgan. I mean, I’m an FBI agent with the BAU, and I know that, but- I was in love, and I was happy, and I was finally starting to feel like I was achieving that  _ normal _ that JJ and Garcia always joke about. And now? Now it’s gone.” The anger has faded from his voice, but it’s been replaced with raw pain, like a wound that can’t be closed.

Morgan had feared some sort of horrible act, some other tragedy that was piled on top of Reid’s already heavy load of trauma, but there wasn’t any- not at least anything that was fixable with a warrant or a case file.

And somehow, this is worse. 

Because Morgan is good with a handgun, and well-versed with handcuffs; he knows how to arrest, and interrogate, and negotiate. 

But this?

This isn’t anything that his FBI Academy training has taught him how to solve.

He doesn’t know much, but he knows- without question- that he’s out of his depth.

~

Only minutes have passed, but it’s felt like hours since Reid’s admission, since Reid explained in words what he’d been feeling ever since he watched Diane fire the gun through her own skull and into Maeve’s. He has more words to say, probably pages upon pages of words, but they feel caught in his throat.

Morgan is first to speak, sensing the younger man’s hesitation.

“Kid- Reid, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re probably not ever gonna be normal,” He says with a soft smile. “I’m not trying to be a dick about it, it’s just that you? Man, you’re a genius, in every sense of the word. Normal is fine, and everything, but I think part of your strength is that you’re  _ not _ , you know?” Morgan is uncertain how Reid will take his words, but he prays he’ll be able to sense the authenticity in his voice.

“Yeah. I understand what you mean, it’s just- I’m tired, you know? I’m tired of feeling like I am drowning in my own brain, in everything that happens around me, and to me, and with me… I would do anything to shut it up.” His voice is firm, yet filled with sadness, and Morgan’s glad Reid’s not able to hear his thoughts; because, though he’d probably not be able to admit it out loud, he’s holding himself back from just wrapping Reid in his arms.

Morgan’s not a genius, not like Reid, but he’s nothing if not determined to try.

“I’m sorry, kid. I really am. I wish there was something I- we, the team- could do to help. I know it’s cliche to say, but maybe it’ll just take time? That’s such a fuckin’ cop-out, I’m sorry,” Morgan responds. “Does it help to talk about it? Because you know me, and you know I’ll listen to whatever you have to say- even if it’s particle physics and every word sounds like gibberish.”

Somehow, that’s what elicits a smile and short laugh out of Reid.  _ Small miracles, I suppose _ , Morgan thinks.  _ I’ll take what I can get _ .

“No, no, I don’t think a- albeit justified- rant about how Einstein’s theories might’ve permanently damaged how we approach the idea of dark energy in the expanding universe is going to help either one of us right now,” Reid suggests. And he’s right-  _ of course he is _ \- so Derek wracks his brain for a new idea. 

“Okay, you’re probably right about that. Wanna talk about Maeve, though?” Even before the question leaves his lips, Reid’s shaking his head no, so Morgan changes tactics. “Got it. What do you want to do instead? TV? Sleep?” He knows that there’s a slim-to-none chance of Reid choosing the latter option.

“Um, actually-” Reid’s voice softens again, almost echoing the timidness Morgan remembers from when the younger profiler first started his job at the BAU. “Would you talk to me? When I was a kid, my mom would just talk and talk and talk and even if I didn’t know exactly what she was talking about, it calmed me down.” He pauses. “But… you don’t have to.”

The silence between them seems to suggest that his partner’s answer will be negative, but when Reid lifts his head to meet Derek’s eyes, the man next to him is grinning. 

“You got it, pretty boy. Hmm, hmm- where should I begin?” Morgan slides closer to Reid, closing the distance between them and offering the corner of the blanket to the other man, which he gladly takes. “Well, you can blow my mind with tangents about quantum physics, no doubt about that. But I’ve still got you beat with some football facts. Lemme tell you about being one of the few black kids on the team at Northwestern…”

And so it begins, Derek launching into a story about the regional championship game during his sophomore year. It’s filled with jokes, of course, and maybe a stretch or two of the truth, but nonetheless, Reid settles as the older man talks. His recounting of old memories fill the room, and though the blanket around his shoulders comforts him to an extent, it’s Derek’s voice that gives him the feeling of safety he’s been missing.

~

But Derek can’t keep talking forever- as much as Garcia would like to argue with that fact- and after a couple hours, in which he’s moved on from sports nostalgia to his family, and a brief history of many of his ex-girlfriends, both men are starting to feel the exhaustion creeping in. 

Reid, surprisingly, had moved even closer to Morgan, the space between them shrinking little by little as the minutes on the clock ticked by. Now, though, he stretches upward, arms reaching above his head as he fights back a yawn.

“Oh, someone’s getting tired, huh, pretty boy? Not like it’s much of a surprise; though, I still can’t believe you’re still wearing those clothes at 3 o’clock in the morning,” Derek chuckles, moving the blanket away from him. His words seem to remind the younger man that he’s still dressed in his slacks, button-up, and tie (though the latter item had been significantly loosened) from earlier that day. 

At that, Reid stands up, a soft- albeit very sleepy- smile gracing his face. His eyes are still swollen after the tears he shed earlier, but- despite his tiredness- he’s starting to look a bit more like the man Morgan’s used to seeing.

“Yeah, I kinda packed in a hurry, I haven’t used my go bag in a while so I just sort of threw things together,” Reid explains, zipping open the bag in question and rifling through it. “And, shit.”

The release of an expletive from the younger man’s mouth sparks a smile from Derek, who now sits atop his own bed. “You good over there, doc?”

“Uh, not really?” The calmness in Reid’s voice from only moments ago fades quickly. “I, uh, I packed my pajama pants, but I somehow forgot to grab a t-shirt. Guess I’m sleeping in the button-up…”

Morgan laughs- of course, Reid, the picture of professionalism, wouldn’t even  _ dare _ to sleep shirtless in their shared room. (Derek, however, is only clad in a full shirt-and-sweats combination for the benefit of his partner; he usually sleeps in little more than his boxers or shorts.) “Come on, kid, you can borrow mine,” he offers, already slipping his arms out of the oversized blue shirt. 

Reid immediately protests, unintelligible sounds pouring out of his mouth at a rapid pace; but Derek’s not hearing a word of it, enjoying the feeling of the hotel room’s air conditioning on his now-bare skin.

“Ah ah, Reid. Wear the shirt- it’s fine, seriously.” Derek averts his eyes as the other man slips into the more comfortable clothing, but he can’t suppress his laughter when he sees Reid in his shirt.

(He’s also feeling something else, stirring in his chest, but he pushes it down- whatever it is- near his heart.)

“Dude, no offense, but you look ridiculous,” he chuckles. He and Reid are basically the same height, but the younger man is far more slender than he is, so the shirt hangs loosely around him and far past his hips. “Go look in the mirror.”

His coworker obliges, moving towards the bathroom with his hairbrush in hand. Though Morgan can’t see his face, he can certainly hear the man’s laughter when he sees his reflection.

“Okay, I don’t think I can argue with you on that one.” The man returns, his somewhat frizzy-hair now smoothed down around his head. “I kind of look like a kid in his father’s dress-up - well, if his father’s work clothes involve FBI-issue t shirts and flannel pants.” Reid makes his way over to the bed next to Derek’s, pulling back the covers.

“Thanks, Der- Morgan. Thank you. This helped,” Reid admits softly. “I’m sorry I kept you up so late, though.”

“Quit that, man, you and I both know I stayed up because I like reminiscing on the ‘good ol’ days’ with someone- and unlike Garcia, you don’t spend the whole time asking me who was the  _ hottest _ on the team with me,” Morgan responds, laughing. “Especially since I’m the obvious answer to that one. But seriously, you’re not a burden. I’m not gonna lie and say I won’t be moody tomorrow morning, but still- I’m glad it helped.”

Reid smiles as he turns off the light on the table between them. “It really did. Goodnight, Morgan.”

The older man looks over at him, one last glance before Reid rolls over onto his side. “Good night, pretty boy.”

Despite the fatigue desperately trying to pull him deep into the pillow against his head, he stays awake for moments more. _Oh, Reid. I’d do anything if I knew it’d help you_ _feel better_ , he thinks to himself as he waits to hear Reid’s breathing soften and stabilize as he drifts into sleep. 

They’ve always been good coworkers, and in recent years they’ve become even better friends, too. But now, seeing Reid like this, so broken and yet still fighting so hard to stay afloat-

Derek’s not sure that “friends” even begins to cover what he feels for Reid. And he’s not sure if he’ll ever figure it out. 


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe it's all gonna turn out alright // and i know that it's not, but i have to believe that it is (appointments - julien baker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. this is turning out to be quite a bit more of a slow-burn than i had planned, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. we'll see hot it goes!

###  ~chapter five~

Morgan’s not exactly expecting to wake up feeling well-rested; after all, he and Reid stayed up past three in the morning, and they’re used to fairly early wake-up calls from Hotch when they’re on a case.

But he also wasn’t planning on being woken up by his coworker’s guttural, agony-filled screams in the bed next to him.

At the noise, Morgan is immediately up and out of his bed, moving to Reid’s side. He barely registers the time on the digital clock between the two beds that reads 5:34 AM. He knows it’s early, knows that there’s little chance of him feeling even somewhat human for the rest of the day, but none of that matters as he puts both arms around a flailing, crying Reid.

“Reid! Reid!? It’s a dream, kid. Wake up!” Morgan hears the panic in his own voice, and as he feels the younger man shake in his arms, he realizes that the screams coming out of him form words:  _ “Stop! No! Don’t hurt him!” _ He stills, wondering who the “him” Reid’s subconscious is referring to.

He continues to shudder and twitch, tears streaming down his face that is wracked with pain- eyes still squeezed tightly shut, and his skin pale and somewhat sickly. His long, bony fingers are tangled in his shirt, forming fists. “Reid! Reid it’s Morgan! You gotta wake up, man, it’s just a dream!”

Perhaps it’s the mention of Morgan’s name, but Reid’s frenetic motions begin to slow, if only slightly. His eyes stay closed, tears still falling, but one of his hands breaks free from his form, reaching up to touch Morgan, who has now found himself sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. They stay that way, unmoving, as Reid seems to come out of his nightmare-fueled state.

And, finally, his big amber eyes flutter open. 

(Morgan’s far too tired to cover up the sigh of pure relief that releases from his mouth.)

“Hey there, pretty boy. Welcome back to reality.” He strives to keep his tone gentle, lighthearted- after all, the kid just got shaken out of the “nightmare to end all nightmares,” as it were. But he can’t hide the fear in his voice, and the concern for his partner. “How’re you feeling?”

Keeping his shaky left hand pressed against Morgan’s on his right forearm, Reid smiles wryly at the question. “Uh, not so good…”

“I’m sorry, kid. And, um, sorry for shaking you too. Do you want to talk about it?” Derek lifts his hand to his own face in an attempt to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and is surprised to feel the wetness of a few tears gracing his cheeks. 

Reid exhales, shifting in the bed into a more comfortable sitting position (while maintaining the physical touches between himself and Morgan, he notices). “How much did you hear? Wait a second, shit- what time is it?”

The matter-of-factness (albeit still slightly frantic, as to be expected) in his tone makes Morgan grin softly, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he turns the digital clock towards them and grabs Reid’s glasses off the side table. “Fuck, man, it’s nearly 6 o’clock in the morning.”

As Reid reaches out to put his glasses back on his face, he lets go of Morgan for the first time- and the older man certainly notices the sudden absence of warmth gracing his skin. “Morgan, I’m so sorry for waking you up… I didn’t mean to.”

_ Of course, he’s apologizing for having a nightmare. A panic attack? Whatever it was- no one but the resident genius would consider apologizing for something like that _ , Morgan muses, settling next to Reid on the bed and sliding some of the heavy blanket into his lap.

“Pretty boy, take a deep breath, it’s okay,” Morgan says, reaching out to rub the younger man’s arm in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “We all have bad dreams sometimes. And, uh, to answer your question, not much? I think I woke up towards the tail end of it- a byproduct of growing up with sisters who made it a habit to gossip loudly when I was trying to sleep, I suppose. I mostly just heard you yelling ‘no,’ and ‘stop.’ And ‘don’t hurt him,’ but that was it.”

Reid, who had finally started to relax next to him, stiffened up at the end of Morgan’s retelling of the events, though he tried to hide it with a shiver. “I’m sorry, I know you haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“Neither have you, man. You don’t need to apologize for having a nightmare, or a panic attack, or nothing. No offense, but after the few months you’ve had, I don’t know if I expected either one of us to sleep through the night.” Morgan’s statement is simple, yet he’s still left trying to figure out who the ‘him’ Reid was crying out for.

He’s about to ask Reid that very question when, lo and behold, there’s a strong knock on the door, accompanied by JJ’s cheerful voice ( _ seriously, how is that even possible this early in the morning? _ ).

“Boys? Hotch needs us downstairs. There’s something the detective wants us to take a look at over at the station, and Hotch said it’s ‘urgent a-s-a-p,’ so it’s not looking good,” she calls from outside the door. 

Morgan wishes he could just sink into the bed and ignore her voice, ignore everything around the two of them bundled up in blankets, but he knows that if he does, she’s going to find a way inside their room. And if Reid’s already anxious with just him here, he knows adding JJ to the equation is likely to send him spiraling deeper into panic.

So, mustering as much energy as he can from little more than 2 and a half hours of sleep, he picks himself off the bed and moves towards the door, which he cracks open. 

JJ, God bless her, is already dressed in a very-professional pantsuit with a pink blouse, hair brushed and makeup covering any signs of fatigue on her face. Her eyes meet his, and she speaks. “Morgan, are you doing ok? You look like hell.”

Hoping to avoid lengthening the conversation unnecessarily, Morgan feigns a chuckle- though he feels somewhat exposed, as he remembers that he’s still not wearing a shirt. “I’m fine, Miss JJ. Pretty boy here and I just didn’t get much sleep.”   
  
As soon as he realizes how inadvertently suggestive his statement was, JJ’s waggling her eyebrows. “Oh, is that so?”

“No, you dirty minded girl, it wasn’t like that,” he says, leaning further out of Reid’s earshot. “Reid, uh, he had a nightmare, so I’ve been trying to talk him down.”

The fellow agent’s eyes widen as she peers into the room, though it’s cloaked in darkness and the slight slivers of the rising sun from the window. “Damn, okay. I’m sorry to force him back into this, but Hotch seems pretty insistent. How about I tell them that you’ll meet us there? I know Hotch wanted us to walk over to the station as a group, but you can find your way around, I’m certain. That’ll probably give you a few more minutes to calm down and get ready for work.”

And damn, if JJ wasn’t married-  _ and if I wasn’t starting to feel some kind of way for Reid _ , Morgan remarks to himself- he probably would’ve kissed her right then and there.

“Thanks, Jayje. I owe you one. I’ll get Reid and I over to the station as soon as we can,” Morgan promises, shutting the door as JJ makes her way down the hall, presumably to give a similar wake-up call to the rest of the team.

However, as he turns back into the room, Reid isn’t where he was when Morgan answered the door. Instead, he’s found his way into Morgan’s bed, and is snoring softly amidst the blankets and pillows that Morgan scattered in his hurry to wake him earlier.

Morgan had often wished for a little bit of the man’s eidetic memory, to be able to memorize and recall scenarios and facts; but this moment, seeing Reid (finally at peace, after a tumultuous night) curled up in the bed he had been asleep in only an hour prior, was one he didn’t think he’d be forgetting anytime soon.

But, of course, he had to be the one to ruin it, too.  _ Duty calls _ , he thinks begrudgingly to himself, as he sits down on the edge of his bed by Reid’s feet.

“Hey, Reid, man, we gotta get going,” Derek says softly, almost in a whisper. His hand has, unknowingly, made its way to rest on the younger man’s calf as he begins to stir, waking up.

“Are we getting called in?” Reid asks, tilting his head back and forth to relieve some of the tension- he had only gotten a few moments of sleep, but it was far more relaxing than the hours of nightmares he’d had in his own bed only a couple of feet away. 

“Yep, sorry kid. Hotch wants us down at the station to meet with the local detective, but I bought us a few minutes. I figured it’d probably be easier if we walked over after the group, maybe take a few minutes to grab a coffee or two- you know, something better than the day-old crap they’ve got in the conference room there for us.” Morgan is already digging through his duffle bag for something to wear, glad that he packed a decent-looking v-neck since he’s not too keen on dealing with a button-up this early in the morning. 

“Okay,” Reid says softly. “Okay, thank you. I’m, uh, I’m gonna get dressed in the bathroom- I’ll give you your shirt back too. Um, you didn’t tell JJ what happened, right?”

Though he hates the idea of lying to his friend, the shakiness creeping into his voice tells him that Reid probably won’t be able to deal with the truth in his current state. “No, kid, I didn’t. She’s just starting to adopt the Garcia technique of wise-cracking at me, especially since I answered the door shirtless.”

“Thanks for that, by the way. It’s, um, it’s very soft.” Reid moves past him toward the bathroom, and though each step is timid, Morgan’s eyes are still drawn to the way the shirt ( _ his  _ shirt) is draped around Reid’s thinning frame- and he can’t exactly help himself from smiling.

He’s glad, though, that Reid’s already closing the bathroom door behind him- that way, he can’t see the slight blush tinging his cheeks.

~

One lukewarm shower- for Reid- later, and the pair are walking down the hallway towards the stairs. Morgan remembered Reid’s hesitation with the elevator the night prior (and Christ, was that only 7 hours ago?), so he didn’t even consider asking. According to JJ’s texts that she rapid-fire sent to his phone, the detective had discovered some sort of ransom note taped to her office door when she arrived at the station, and she wanted the team to come in and analyze it. 

Reid groaned as the blaring, metallic sound of his own phone ringing- his standard ringtone for Agent Hotchner- shattered the comfortable silence between him and Morgan.

“This is Dr. Reid,” he chirped as he answered the phone, sounding far more enthusiastic than either his face or body language suggested. “Yep, Hotch, I’ve got Morgan here with me too, we’re on our way in. I’m, uh, sorry again that we’re late.” He paused as Hotch responded, presumably dismissing the apology politely. 

“Oh, yeah- we can do that. So you’re letting me go out in the field?” Morgan perked up at that- seems like Hotch’s temporary ban on letting Reid participate in active duty was lifted, at least for today. “2752 Wilkinson, yep, we can check it out. I’ll ring you back when or if we find anything there. Thanks, Hotch.”

He hung up the phone and looked over at Morgan, with a look that the older man couldn’t quite decipher. 

“So, pretty boy, what does the boss-man want us to do now?” Morgan keeps his voice light; though Reid seemed to be in better spirits when on the phone, he knew it was likely just a cover to shield his true emotions (uncertain as they were) from their Unit Chief.

The younger profiler held open the door for him as they reached the street, still heading towards the station since that’s where their vehicles had been parked the day prior. “He wants us to head to an address slightly north of town, apparently whatever note that Detective Bryant found at her office had a return-to-sender address printed on it. So he asked us to check it out- Garcia looked into it and it seemed abandoned, so it’s probably nothing, but apparently “probably nothing” is as much field work as Hotch’ll let me handle at this point,” Reid reported with a wry laugh.

Sarcastic as it might’ve been, Morgan was just glad to hear a tone of humor in his teammate’s voice. “Whoa, there, kid, it’s a little too early for that level of snark, even if it’s justified. Want me to drive?”

Morgan already had the keys in his pocket, so it was sort of a moot point, but he figured that Reid had been subjected to enough choices made without his approval, so asking seemed like the safer bet- even if Reid was already shaking his head “no.”

“Alright, we’re only a block away. Wanna grab us both coffees at the little place on the corner that we passed last night? I’ll swing around and pick you up.”

Reid smiled at that- Morgan rarely trusted anyone to get his coffee order right, and it was a good feeling to know that, if nothing else, Morgan didn’t see him much differently than he had before… before Maeve.

_ At least someone’s not acting like I just watched my girlfriend get shot to death in front of me- even if I  _ did.  _ Who knew it’d be ‘Tough-Guy Morgan’ treating me like a human, out of the rest of the team? _

And with that, Morgan headed into the parking deck to retrieve their Suburban while Reid walked into the narrow brick coffee shop, which seemed pretty popular with the Cleveland locals.  _ That’s a good sign _ , Reid thought, taking in the busy atmosphere around him of people typing away on computers or sharing early morning conversations- it was only around seven A.M., after all.  _ Maybe their coffee will actually be tolerable _ .

Minutes later, he stood on the curb, with one heavily-sweetened black coffee for himself and a half-sweet double-shot mocha for Morgan in hand as the man in question rolled up next to him in the large SUV.

“Hop in, pretty boy!” Morgan yelled out. “That better have an extra shot in it.”

Rolling his eyes, Reid put one cup in the crook of his elbow to get the car door open. “Come on, Morgan, I’ve only been gone for a couple of weeks, and I have an eidetic memory- you really think I’ll forget your coffee order?”

“Fair point, Reid. Let’s go.”

Once Reid’s seatbelt is buckled across him, Morgan takes off in the direction of the address Reid rattled off to him, with a brief, light-hearted argument about which roads to take between them. 

After the morning’s events, Morgan had been undeniably worried about the younger man’s mental state, especially since they were heading into the field.

But maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

~

The pair arrived at the address in record time- thanks to Reid’s unbelievably accurate knowledge of downtown Cleveland side streets, to no surprise- though it looked very-much abandoned from the exterior, as Garcia’s information had predicted. Regardless, Morgan parked outside the decrepit driveway awning and hopped out of the car, leaving his coffee in the cupholder. 

Reid walked only two steps behind him, hand resting hesitantly on his holstered gun. Though he knew he’d likely have no reason to engage his weapon, it was nice to just know it was there. Strange, but comforting, as it had been ever since he passed his very first weapons-training exam- all those years ago, with Gideon.

He’d never admit it, of course, but Gideon had been on his mind more often than not, in the past few weeks. Maybe it was losing Maeve that made him think about that other, far older loss in his life- the one that likely contributed to so much of who he became as an agent on the team.

Shaking himself out of his moment of remembrance, he followed Morgan to the front door. 

“Stay behind me, okay kid? I know it’s just a sweep, but we don’t know what we’re looking at here,” Morgan insisted, already grabbing his own gun out of precaution before kicking open the unlocked door.

They moved slowly throughout the house, calling out “Clear!” as they separately checked each room for inhabitants before circling back to the front of the small home. 

“Alright, man, there’s nothing here,” Morgan admitted begrudgingly. “It seems like Hotch really did just send us out here for no reason, huh?”

Surprisingly, Reid’s reply contained a level of humor that Morgan hadn’t heard from him in weeks. “No reason? Come on, you got a free coffee out of it. Don’t even start with me.”

Morgan snorted, shrugging as they made their way back towards the car. The wind had picked up around them, making the early-morning breeze a bit stronger than he expected.

“Uh, Morgan?” Reid’s voice, tainted with hesitation, pulled him back. “There’s a trap door or something on the side of the house here.”

The older man circled back to where Reid stood over a small, rusted-over hatch. “Okay, kid, stand back, I’m gonna blow the lock off.”

Reid did as he was told, covering his ears slightly in preparation for the inevitable shot.

But, just as Morgan took aim at the ancient-looking padlock, the world exploded around them.

And all Reid could hear before everything went dark was the sound of Morgan screaming out his name.


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he'd trade his guns for love // but he's caught in the crossfire 
> 
> (notes @ the bottom this time)

###  ~chapter six~

Morgan is, unsurprisingly, dazed and confused when he awakes; and though he tries to move, tries to get a sense of where he is, what’s happening, and  _ why on God’s green earth does his head hurt so God-damn bad _ , he quickly realizes that he cannot, as the makeshift shackles around his wrists and ankles keep him immobilized and on the dusty, dirt-ridden floor. 

The realization that he’s tied up sends him into an almost immediate panic, accompanied by a nearly skull-splitting headache as he tries to move; whatever’s happened to him, it likely involved a bash to the head, if the throbbing towards the nape of his neck is any indication. 

As his eyes open, acclimating himself to the dimly lit room that he’s being held in, he begins to search for Reid, before realizing that the human-sized weight leaning against his back is, in fact, his partner in question.

Reid, unlike himself, seems to still be unconscious, and Morgan can’t quite tell if that’s a good thing or not; if he was awake, he’d likely be panicking- however, he needs to wake up soon, and fast. 

He begins to scan the small space, looking for anything that can help him figure out where they are as he tries to shake Reid awake with sporadic (and hopefully gentle, though he’s lacking in muscle control at the moment) shoves to the back and side. 

The younger man begins to stir awake, pulling against the rope on his wrists, which seems to be attached to Morgan’s own. 

“Come on, kid, something’s wrong, we gotta get out of here,” whispers Morgan frantically as the younger man seems to wake up fully. “I think someone grabbed us at the house.”

“Shit,” exhales Reid as he too takes in the sights of the room they’re held in. “I think we got blitzed from behind, my head feels like it’s been sledge-hammered.” Morgan frowns, knowing how much Reid struggles with his migraines even  _ without _ obvious and unexpected head trauma. “I don’t remember being driven anywhere, though.”   
  
“Neither do I,” Morgan replies. “Maybe we’re in the cellar, or whatever that trap door led to?” Twisting his wrist behind him (and wincing slightly at the painful motion), he finds Reid’s hand and squeezes. “We’re gonna get out of here; Garcia’s probably already tracked our phones. We’re gonna be okay.” Though he’s saying it for Reid’s benefit, to try and keep the younger man calm in the face of terror (after all, Reid’s found himself in too many situations like this before), he almost believes it himself. 

That is, until he hears a booming disembodied voice from above, and his eyes are drawn to the ceiling, where a dated video camera lens, microphone, and speaker device hang. 

_ Well, this just went from bad to worse _ , Derek’s internal monologue interjects as he begins to writhe around more, hoping to find some slack in the ropes binding his hands to Reid’s.

“Okay, if we’re working on the assumption that we’re in the house, the team should find us quickly- they’re probably on their way, right?” Though it’s a logical question, Morgan can hear the unfiltered fear in Reid’s voice. “Right, Morgan?”

The man in question is lost in thought as his eyes travel further around the room, noticing that to his right is a large metal table- almost surgical in nature. “Reid? I think this is where the unsub is holding the bodies. I see some medical equipment to my right. What do you see?”

His lack of an answer to Reid’s question- and instead responding with more of his own- does little to assuage the man’s panic. “Um, I think I see some surgical tools… and there’s blood- a lot of it- on the floor near me.” Reid grasps Morgan’s hand tighter as he continues to try and break free from their ties. 

As he does, however, the speaker above them crackles to life with the sound of almost-maniacal laughter. “Well, well, well, we’ve caught ourselves a good one, haven’t we, darling?” The voice is male, young, and he sounds to be talking to some sort of accomplice.

Morgan’s worst assumptions come true with the next voice he hears. “Yes, it appears so.” Though he’s not the pro at voice recognition in the way that Reid is, he and the rest of the team had spent some time watching one of Meg Campbell’s class presentations in order to get a feel for her personality yesterday while working the case. 

And, though he hated being right, he knew that this confirmed his second theory from the conference room only a day prior: Meg Campbell wasn’t a victim- she was the unsub’s partner in crime. 

From behind him, Reid whimpers, and Morgan squeezes his hand again, hoping to convey support (and omit the fear he himself is feeling). “What do you want from us?” The younger profiler asks- screams, really- into the open room. 

“Oh, he speaks- this is going to be good, isn’t it, Victor?” Meg’s voice says, colder and more threatening than she had sounded in her thesis defense video. Morgan commits the other name- Victor- to memory, in an effort to remember as many details as he can, since there’s no telling what will or won’t come in handy if they try to escape. “Doctor Reid, is it? You’re just the man we’ve been searching for, to help us with our little… problem. Your friend Morgan there, though, he’s just dead weight, isn’t he?”

Reid panics at that, trying once again to break free. “I’m not helping you! Come out here and threaten us in person, you cowards!” It’s not often that Reid is the one attempting to sound intimidating- when he does, it’s usually serious.

However, that demand is met with silence, and a soft mechanical “click” tells them both that whoever was speaking to them only a moment ago- Meg, and this Victor person- has taken a break. 

Morgan sighs, feeling Reid slump against his back. “Just breathe, kid. They seem to want something from us- or you, at least. That means they’ll keep us alive…” he says, his voice hoarse and fading. 

He hopes his words hold true, not just for Reid’s sake but for his own.

~

Only a few short miles away, at the downtown Cleveland P.D., Hotch’s phone rings.

“Reid? What did you and Morgan find at that address?” However, it’s not Reid who answers him back, or Morgan, for that matter. It’s a very frantic Penelope Garcia, fear and worry clouding her usually-cheerful voice.

“Hotch? Sir, we’ve got a problem- something’s happened to Morgan and Reid, neither one of them are answering their phones and they’re still pinging at that address you sent them to an hour ago!” Garcia speaks at a manic pace, and Hotch jumps into action, motioning at the rest of the team (who are all spread out across the station) to join him in the conference room.

“I’m throwing you on speaker, Garcia. So their phones are still online?” Hotch’s voice wavers in his attempt to sound calm, as the rest of the team files in. Rossi, who was by his side when Garcia’s call came in, whispers an update to JJ and Blake: “We can’t get a hold of Reid and Morgan- Garcia’s digging into it.”

Blake’s emotions are written all over her face- concern for her fellow team members, as well as confusion. “I thought we said the location we sent them to was abandoned? I mean, Hotch wouldn’t send Reid to an active crime scene this soon after his bereavement leave.”

“It  _ was _ ,” emphasizes JJ as she fruitlessly tries to dial Reid’s number- he’s still her #2 on speed dial, right after Will at #1 and before Emily, though her phone’s been disconnected, at #3. “At least, we thought so. We’ve gotta get over there, right now.”

Rossi places what he hopes is a comforting hand on JJ’s arm, which is already reaching into her pocket for keys. “Wait, JJ. We don’t exactly know what we’d be walking into- plus, just because their phones are there, it doesn’t mean that they are too.”

“I don’t  _ care _ ,” she responds, looking around wildly at the rest of the BAU team. “We have to go! Reid.. he  _ just _ got back to us after everything that went down with Maeve. We can’t lose him again, we can’t!” She sinks down into the swivel chair behind her, resting her head in her hands and leaving the keys on the table. 

Agent Blake, ever the voice of reason, turns her attention back to Garcia on the other end of the phone as Rossi comforts a now-crying JJ. “Okay, let’s chart this out. Reid and Morgan headed over to the Wilkinson Street house around 7:15am, probably arrived around 7:30am- and it’s 8:43 right now. So they couldn’t have traveled that far, even if they were taken to a secondary location. It’s more likely that they’re at the house, anyway, if their phones are there. We haven’t exactly profiled this unsub to be particularly intelligent, so I don’t know if he planned for a secondary site.”

Garcia interrupts, her computer keys clicking in the background. “Ah ah, see, that’s where I have to interrupt and unfortunately burst that bubble, because there’s a second reason that I called- besides the disconcerting lack of contact with the Boy Wonder and my Chocolate Thunder over there. I cracked into Meg Campbell’s laptop, and it’s not looking good.”

“Spit it out, Garcia, we don’t have a lot of time to figure out if Reid and Morgan are in trouble,” Hotch warns, his voice growing sterner with each word.

“Yes, sir, sorry sir,” Garcia mumbles. “So, this girl is definitely hiding something, and I’m not a profiler, but it’s definitely veering into the ‘suspicious intel’ category to me. She’s had a lot of contact with someone by the name of Victor Townsend, who looks to be a doctoral dropout from the very same neuroscience department that she’s been enrolled in. He lives completely off the grid, no current addresses or work history, that’s why he wasn’t coming up in any of my more surface-level searches.”

“And?” Rossi shoots back, now sitting beside JJ with a cup of lukewarm coffee in hand.

“I’m getting there, other sir, sorry,” she responds. “It looks like she was into some pretty-hanky business with him, that’s for sure. Money transfers through untraceable- well, by anyone other than me- apps, phone calls to burners bought by their credit cards, basically everything in the ‘how to make an unsub 101’ handbook if you ask me. It looks like they were planning some sort of experiment to fulfill Meg Campbell’s thesis, um, of the ‘live tissue’ variety? She was looking into cognitive mapping of the brain, and, uh…”

“If she wants a subject with the brain-to-end-all-brains, she might’ve just found that with Reid,” Blake finishes, filling in the blanks after Garcia trailed off.

“Okay, I’m not waiting, if someone’s cutting into Reid’s head we’re going over there  _ now _ ,” JJ says with certainty, pushing her chair back as she stands up. 

This time, Hotch doesn’t argue.

“Send us any more information you have on either one of them, Garcia- we’re going to need it to talk them down. We’re on our way- dispatch backup from the station,” he calls out in the vague vicinity of the detective before pushing open the side door and rushing towards his own car, waiting in the deck.

JJ hops in next to him, Rossi and Blake finding seats in the back. All four members of the team are silent- too afraid to speak, perhaps- lost in the thoughts of what might be happening to their beloved boys.

~

“Hmm, where to even begin,” coos Meg through the microphone. “So much to do, and so little time- especially since that techno-bitch Garcia is probably honing in on us right now.”

The other voice, the male- Victor- Morgan reminds himself, speaks up. “How about we show them who they’re all messing with, then? Let’s go be the stars of this show, sweetheart.”

With that, the two faceless voices emerge from some sort of half-hidden doorway to Morgan’s left, standing in view of both Morgan and Reid. He can hear the younger man gasp, softly, as the realization that he’s looking at their captors hits him (and, likely, the pain of noticing how much Meg resembles Maeve).

This time, though, Morgan gasps too, as his eyes begin to register what’s happening around them as Victor reaches up to unlatch the video camera lens from the rafter above their heads, placing it on a nearby surface and pointing it- right at him and Reid.

Reid scrambles, attempting- unsuccessfully, yet again- to break free, and Morgan wants nothing more than to be able to comfort him. This is all somewhat new to him, being tortured (presumably) on camera; but for Reid, this is probably an all-too-similar situation to the one he found himself in with Tobias Hankel. 

Before either one of them can speak, however, Morgan feels delicate hands (Meg’s, he realizes) unwinding the rope holding them together and directing each to a separate chair, next to the metal table. He rubs at his wrists, taking advantage of the moment of temporary freedom before Meg re-attaches the cuffs to his wrists and ankles, this time restricting him to the chair.

“What do you want from us?” he grunts out, noticing that Reid looks close to a state of unconsciousness behind him. Hopefully (and he can barely believe that this is what he’s hoping for) it’s just from the head wound, and not because these ubsubs- sick fucks as they are- have drugged him.

There’d be no coming back from that- and even now, without it, that’s somewhat unlikely too.

Morgan can’t help himself- he knows he needs to be focusing on everything around him, to try and find a way to appeal to their captors and escape, but all his brain can focus on is the man tied next to him. 

Victor responds, as he re-adjusts the camera to center it on Morgan and Reid. “Well, Agent Morgan, you’re just a bit of collateral damage. Reid here, however, is  _ very  _ special. You see, my Meg, the love of my life, is finishing up her graduate capstone thesis, and she needs the perfect final subject to complete the product.” Reid shivers at that sentence.

“And, even though some say that the heart is the organ of love, I decided that instead, I’d give her the perfect gift- your genius’s brain- as an early graduation present.” His voice is twisted and cold, and Morgan wills, again, for Reid to wake up. He pulls against his own cuffs, wishing he could reach out and touch his partner; not only to comfort him, but in order to confirm that everything happening is real. He can’t help how much he’s wishing (hoping, praying- even to a God he doesn’t believe in) that this is all some extension of the nightmare Reid had woken up from only hours earlier. 

Turns out, he’d heard every word. “You’re not taking my brain, you piece of shit romantic. And if you kill Morgan, you won’t even get close enough to me to cut it out of me.”

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Meg responds, her hand lightly grazing his unkempt hair. “I think we’ll take your brain first- it might be nice to show Agent Morgan what he missed out on.”

~

It takes a moment for Garcia to realize what’s popped up on her screen, but as soon as she does, her blood runs cold; she fumbles to put her headset back on and dial Hotch’s number, fingers shaking.

“Team? Things just got worse. They- Meg and Victor, I’ve confirmed that it’s them- are, let’s see, live-streaming? And they’ve got Reid and Morgan tied up. They, um, they look okay, they’re both awake but they look like they’ve been tossed around a little,” Garcia rattles off, sending the live-stream link to the rest of the team’s handhelds as she tries to continue, before being cut off by Hotch.

“Got it, we’re going in now!” The sound of running feet accompany his words, and Garcia panics.

“STOP!” she cries out. “You- you can’t go in there.” Her voice trembles. “They have a bomb strapped to the wall.”

And instantly, everyone goes still- Garcia’s hands freeze over her keys, and the motion she heard moments ago through the phone has stopped suddenly.

Then, she can hear Hotch’s phone click, and Rossi’s voice speaks. “You’re on speaker, Garcia, and we’re looking at the stream but the quality is terrible. What can you see?”

She shudders, attempting to enhance the video feed. “Okay, The bomb seems to be a fairly standard home-grown type, nothing too technical, but if we’re working on the assumption that Meg is the brains of this operation, I don’t want to assume it’s a decoy. Reid and Morgan are both cuffed to their chairs, and- oh God- Meg’s got a surgical tray.”

The entire team’s sighs and gasps of frustration can be heard through the phone. “We thought so… we have to get in there before she decides to use it,” says Agent Blake. “Do you have audio?”

“I do, I just can’t seem to get the audio to transmit to you guys’s feed- Meg’s just making vague threats right now. It seems like they planned this, to get us to come out to Cleveland- it’s like Reid’s brain is Victor’s sick idea of a gift to his girlfriend. And Reid looks pretty rough, you guys; he’s awake, but he seems to be drifting in and out.” As if on cue by Garcia’s verbal report, Reid speaks up, his voice scratchy and shaky.

“Why are you doing this? Don’t you want to prove your love to her?” His words sound like he’s trying to appeal to Victor, trying to convince him to stop Meg. She’s unsure why, since Meg seems to be pulling the strings.

Morgan chimes in, and, despite the poor video quality, she can tell that he’s still trying to break free. “Come on, man- if you let her take the kid’s brain, she’ll probably just take yours too. Bigger sample size, and all that?” 

Garcia’s reminded that if this wasn’t such an incredibly precarious life-or-death situation, the language Morgan’s using to negotiate with his captor would honestly be pretty hilarious. Regardless, she zooms in, trying to figure out more details of the bomb that’s barring the rest of the team’s entry- and hopefully block out the sound of Reid’s soft whimpers. 

Though he’s off-screen, Victor seems to react to Morgan’s words. “No- no! I helped her kill all those other girls- she wouldn’t do that to me!” Luckily, Garcia had been downloading a recording of this stream since it began, since that confession was pretty damning- even though, with this video alone, these two will never see the light of day outside a jail yard again.

That is, provided Morgan and Reid can get free before the bomb gets activated. 

Reid stays quiet, cowering as Meg circles him and tousles his hair with the scalpel in hand. “Don’t you want to prove your love to her in another kinda way, man? I know what love is, and a brain’s not gonna cut it. That brain’s going to shrivel up and die and then there won’t be anything left to show your love with. You have to make it count, man. If you really love her, you can’t do anything half-ass. Just go for it, man!” Morgan’s voice is pleading yet sincere, and she wonders where exactly he’s pulling his knowledge from.

“Wait, what, what do you mean?” Victor says, suddenly intrigued by Morgan’s proposition. 

“I got a ring on the chain around my neck. It was- it was my mother’s! You can propose to Meg, Victor. Don’t you wanna make her yours? Forever?” Victor seems to turn in the direction of Morgan, tilting his head.

And Garcia knows he’s lying- she knows Fran Morgan never gave Derek a ring, and that he’d never wear it around his neck during a case like this, either. But she’s no profiler, and if even  _ she _ picked up on the fact that Victor’s not too bright? Then Derek’s definitely using it to his advantage. 

Meg brandishes the scalpel again, accidentally nicking the edge of Reid’s scalp, who cries out in protest (though she barely notices). “Don’t listen to him!”

But Victor, his focus drawn instead to Morgan, ignores her. 

Garcia, who is still staring intently at the bomb, speaks to Hotch, voice tinged with hesitating excitement. “Sir? I don’t think the bomb is active, I think it’s a fake- all of the wires seem to be affixed to each other, not to a power source of some kind.”

She can hear Hotch muttering words of approval, as JJ sighs out of relief. “We can’t just breach though, Meg’s still armed, and it looks to me like Victor’s got a gun holstered.” Garcia zooms in on Victor, noticing that he does have a gun strapped to his belt- two, in fact, and they’re the two that were initially attached to Morgan and Reid’s bodies. 

“Just wait- Morgan’s trying to negotiate. How’s it sounding, Garcia?”

“Yes, Sir, it seems like he’s making some headway, just trying to pit Victor against Meg. She’s still dangerously close to the Boy Genius with that scalpel though, and it’s making me nervous…” she fades, but before she can continue, commotion erupts on screen. 

Victor, who had reached for the (nonexistent) ring strung on Morgan’s neck, is now on the ground, pinned down by a now-freed Morgan. Spencer, still tied to the chair, squirms and yelps as Meg now holds the scalpel at his neck.

“Breach!” Hotch yells, and the video feed screen is now filled with her team, pointing their guns at Meg. Garcia leans forward, trying to process everything that happened in just a few short seconds- and saying a silent prayer that they’ll be able to stop Meg before she cuts Reid any further.

Blake, meanwhile, assists JJ with handcuffing Victor and escorting him out to the car, where the Cleveland police vehicles are waiting. Morgan has grabbed Reid’s and his own gun off Victor’s waist, pointing his weapon at Meg as well, though his arm shakes, and Garcia can see the bruise blossoming across his bicep.

Meg, now, takes her moment to speak as she tightens her grip on the scalpel pressed to his throat. “You really think I’m going to let him go? He’s what I’ve been waiting for! I did all of this for him!  _ His  _ brain, everything buried deep inside of it- he’s going to make me famous. They won’t be able to ignore my research now, don’t doubt that,” she schemes. Reid’s eyes, swollen, are full of terror as he tries, unsuccessfully, to squirm out of reach. 

A brief glance between Hotch and Morgan is exchanged, and before anyone can move, Hotch pulls the trigger, striking Meg square in the chest.

The scalpel falls from her hand, bouncing off of Reid’s shoulder, and Morgan’s voice, still shaky, sounds in the now-silent room. “Trust me, no one gives a shit about your research, bitch.”

~

Safely out of the house’s cellar, Morgan and Reid- both helped up the rickety stairs by Hotch and Rossi- are walked over to the waiting ambulances to get checked out. Though Hotch turns away to relay his report to the Cleveland detective and police team, who jump into action to dismantle the decoy bomb, JJ stays by their side. 

“Seriously, guys, I’m fine,” protests Morgan as an EMT rotates his heavily-bruised arm and checks over his pupils. “Reid got the brunt of it anyway, you guys need to be looking at him.”

Smiling, one of the younger EMTs nods and says, “We are, don’t worry!” The man in question, Reid, is laying down on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance van. As soon as the EMT takes her hand off of Morgan, he immediately hops up next to Reid.

“I’m riding with him,” he insists, and JJ’s about to argue with him, about to tell him that he needs to go get rest and she’ll keep Reid company, when she sees the look of determination in his face. 

“Okay, you got it,” she says with a playful tone, throwing her arms in the air. “Rossi and I’ll meet you there, and I think Blake’s heading back with Hotch to finish up the paperwork at the station.” Morgan nods at that, but his attention has shifted fully to Reid.

“Are you ok?” he whispers to the younger man, grasping for his hand amidst the IV wires around him. From the preliminary check-up, Reid has a concussion from the blitz attack, a pretty nasty scrape against his cheek from Meg’s scalpel, and some bruising along his wrists and ankles. 

“My head hurts like hell, and I need some stitches, but yeah. Thank you, Morgan, for talking Victor down from the metaphorical ledge, since I was sort of down for the count in there.”

He looks up at Morgan with those big amber eyes, and suddenly- as if his brain had just been waiting for him to make the connection- he realizes why he was able to so easily speak to Victor about love. It’s because he felt the same way (albeit without the murdering tendencies, of course) about someone. 

Reid. 

It’s always been Reid.

And now, weaving his fingers with Reid’s as they rode in the ambulance to the nearby hospital- St. Joseph’s- he knows that somehow, despite everything in their crazy hectic lives, there’s never been anything more important on his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my favorite chapter, i've gotta be honest with you, because writing action like this isn't exactly my fave pasttime. the ending makes up for it, though, i hope!
> 
> more to come soon~


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think you'd be good to me // and i'd be so good to you  
> (good to you - marianas trench)
> 
> they've found themselves in hospitals many times before, seen each other laid out in these beds with more injuries than either would dare to count, but somehow.  
> this is different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the episode of television i reference here is s2e06 of queer as folk (a scene between debbie and brian)  
> if you're a young lgbtq+ person or just looking for something to rip your heart out and make you laugh at the same time, i'd definitely recommend checking this show out!   
> as always, i thrive on feedback and comments :)

###  **~chapter seven~**

Several hours later, Reid is sleeping (and snoring, though he’d deny it if you asked) softly in a hospital bed, Morgan steadfast and still awake in the chair by his side. His hand rests on Reid’s forearm, which is heavily bandaged, as when they arrived at the hospital ER, the doctors had discovered that Reid’s shoulder had been dislocated in the earlier attack. It was set quickly, but it had rendered Reid immobile and in a great deal of pain- luckily, the non-narcotic pain medication had kicked in about an hour prior and had allowed him to get some much needed rest. 

Morgan, on the other hand, is wide awake- he had been checked out by a nurse when they first arrived, but his injuries- consisting of a heavily bruised arm and some scrapes and welts forming around his wrists and ankles where he had been tied up- were superficial and wouldn’t require an overnight stay.

Yet, his mind was still racing with thoughts of his sudden (but, he begrudgingly admits to himself, not entirely unsurprising) realization in the ambulance van earlier. Perhaps that contributed to why he hadn’t left the younger agent’s side- he wanted to be the first person Reid saw when he awoke, now that he had begun to process his feelings- though to anyone looking on, he would have just appeared to be a concerned coworker. 

Agents Rossi and Hotch, who had excused themselves from the case wrap-up at the station and left the detectives there in the capable hands of JJ and Blake, stand silently at the door, keeping watch. 

They whispered quietly to each other, despite knowing that very little could awaken Reid from his deep, medication-induced slumber. 

“It was too much of a risk,” Hotch sighed, running his hand through his short-cropped hair. “We shouldn’t have sent him into the field this soon after his leave…”

Rossi was quick to dispel his Unit Chief’s concerns, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Hotch, don’t beat yourself up. We had no way to know that the house had a basement cellar, it wasn’t in any of the county zoning records; it was a calculated decision, and though it didn’t end exactly how we wanted, you have to agree that Reid and Morgan handled themselves very well in a very unpredictable situation.”

Hotch nodded slowly, meeting the other man’s gaze as he watched over their two younger teammates in the hospital room. “You’re right, and I’m glad we sent Morgan in there with Reid today- he did some quick thinking, focusing on Victor’s passion rather than Meg’s psychopathology. I’m never thrilled about losing one of our unsubs before justice is served, but we were able to apprehend Victor, and I’m not sure if that would’ve been possible otherwise. I just worry, you know, about Reid.”

The older man pauses, realizing that Hotch was conflating much of what Reid had gone through in the past few months to his situation only a few years prior, with the loss of Haley and his takedown of George Foyet. “I worry too, Aaron. We all do. But he knows we’re all here for him, and we’re going to support him as much as we can. And,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I think Agent Morgan’s doing a pretty good job with him. He hasn’t left Reid’s side since we got them out of that basement.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Hotch badgered him slightly, their shared anxieties subdued for now. “Just because you’ve given up on love after three failed marriages doesn’t mean it’s time to start playing matchmaker.” 

Laughing softly to himself, Rossi sipped at his now-lukewarm coffee- it was pretty terrible machine-grade stuff, but he knew JJ and Blake weren’t faring much better at the station in terms of coffee selections. “Ah, ah, I jest, Aaron. But you see it too, and you can’t tell me that you don’t. Us old men, we notice these things.” 

Exchanging smiles, Hotch handed his cup of coffee over to Rossi as he walked into the hospital room and stood next to Morgan, his partner waiting patiently for him. 

“Are you staying here tonight?” he asked- though it was only 7pm, Morgan showed no interest in returning to the hotel anytime soon. The team would be staying in Cleveland until Reid’s discharge, which- provided his pain didn’t worsen in the night- would be the following morning, as the doctor wanted to keep him for observation regarding the muscle strain in his shoulder. 

His statement appeared to jar the younger man out of a deep litany of thoughts, as Morgan seemed to jump in response to his words- though his hand never moved from its gentle grip on Reid’s skin.

“Is that okay with you?” Fitting, of course, for a profiler to respond to a question with another question.

“Yes- although I’d feel better if you let me ask Dr. Talbot or one of the nurses to wheel a temporary bed in here for you. I’d prefer all my agents to get a good night’s sleep, since we’ll be heading back sometime mid-morning tomorrow provided Reid is discharged,” Hotch explained. “Do you need us-” motioning back towards Rossi, who smiled from the doorway- “to bring you anything?”

“Thank you, Hotch, but I’ll be okay. I’ll probably end up sleeping on that couch,” Morgan said, pointing his thumb to the small loveseat in the corner- though his body language suggested that he had no plans to leave the uncomfortable plastic chair by Reid’s bedside. “And no, JJ already brought my and Reid’s go-bags from the hotel, so we won’t need to head back for anything.” 

“Okay, Derek,” Hotch almost-whispered, noticing that Reid was beginning to stir in his sleep. “Try and get some rest. You did good work today, you and Reid. Thank you for keeping an eye on him- but just know I’m keeping an eye out for you too.” Though his words were somewhat stern, his tone was anything but, merely suggesting that Morgan might want to shy away from risks instead of barreling into them with his gun ahead of him.

“Will do, boss-man,” Morgan replied teasingly. “Thank you.” 

With one more glance at the sleeping Reid, Hotch turned and exited the room, his concerns assuaged for now. 

“Let’s go,” he said to Rossi.

“Ah, yes. Let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” was his simple reply.

And though Hotch rolled his eyes at the comment, he couldn’t help but notice how, despite the distraction of Morgan’s own injuries, his eyes never strayed from Reid in the hospital bed. There was definitely something brewing there, but  _ what _ it was, he was too uncertain to say.

~

Though visions of sleep had started to cloud Morgan’s thoughts, he blinked them away, maintaining his focus on Reid. He knew that the younger man had lost weight as a result of the events surrounding Maeve’s death, but lying in the hospital bed in a gown, surrounded by wires and gauze-wrap, he just looked so  _ small _ .

_ Damn, he’s already been through so much _ , Morgan thought, chiding himself for his decision-making.  _ And  _ I _ put him in harm’s way today _ . 

Those intrusive and fearful thoughts did little to calm the already-fluttering bundle of nerves blooming in his chest. 

He still couldn’t quite explain it, what he was feeling. It had dawned on him when he was negotiating with Victor in the cellar, with the way he himself was speaking about love. Something about the young profiler laying in front of him just made him  _ feel _ something, something new.

That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t felt attraction before, as that was surely not the case.  _ No _ , he laughed to himself.  _ They didn’t call me the Casanova of the BAU for nothing, misogynistic womanizer namesake be damned.  _ Morgan had definitely made time for plenty of lovers- mostly female, though there were some males that came to mind- and had also had his fair share of relationships. 

Thinking back, however, he realized that he had never  _ loved _ any of them- well, at least not enough to say those three little words- “I love you”- to any of his amorous connections. In actuality, those words had been all-but-reserved for his mother and his sisters (and his father, though those memories had begun to fade as of late, despite his best efforts), and the occasional platonic responses to Garcia or JJ’s or Hotch’s sons. 

Frankly, he somewhat prided himself on his ability to not get attached. He knew it made him a good profiler, the skill to easily step away from rambling trains of thought or heavy emotion-fueled moments. It just sort of made things  _ simple _ \- relationships never got too serious to necessitate him bringing up past traumas, and the claustrophobic feeling in his throat that usually accompanied intimacy or deep connections had rarely made itself known since his teen years, since after his father died.

And it  _ was _ simple, and a good thing at that. He enjoyed it. Relished in it. Savored late-night flings, got drunk on never knowing people’s last names.

Except now. Now, when everything in his life was finally starting to make sense; after so many years, the members of his team had finally stopped looking at him like another victim, and he knew that he was gaining respect at the BAU not just for his muscle but for his profiling skills as well. 

Now, all of that structure- carefully crafted, designed to never allow Morgan to hurt in the way that he had been when he watched his hero, his father, get shot in front of him- was crashing down.

Somehow, his mind seemed to catapult him back to a memory, of watching a television show with the first man he had ever been with (not counting Carl Buford- and he tried not to let that count in his list of personal encounters, though his brain rarely rationalized it that way).

Elijah, his name was. It was in the early 2000s, when Morgan was finishing up his tenure on the Chicago P.D. bomb squad; they had met at a club, as was fitting with most of his other hookups. It wasn’t love, and it was little more than a passing attraction, but Elijah had made it his mission to educate him on “the culture”- gay culture, put simply.

The man had been supportive, and held Morgan when he cried after they slept the first time (and every time after, though it never went past 4 times- as was Morgan’s self-imposed limit for hookups). He also introduced him to the cult classic television show  _ Queer as Folk _ . He wouldn’t admit to anyone who asked- save for Garcia, who had once shown up at his house for a gossip session while he was in the middle of re-watching an episode- but he had taken a liking to the vulgar series.

If nothing else, it had been nice to see representation of gay men on screen that weren’t just stereotypes, though they were in their own ways. Nonetheless, his brain prodded him towards the memory of one scene, and one line in particular.

_ “Despite all your efforts to never let another heart touch yours… that little persistent kid had somehow gotten in under the wire.” _

None of the specifics of the dialogue applied in this situation- Reid wasn’t a kid (at least in age, contrary to the semi-affectionate nickname he had been given), and Morgan wasn’t quite as emotionally stunted as the character in the episode- but, still, the words stung as he turned them over and over in his mind.

Because that’s what had happened, wasn’t it?

Somehow, in between weekly cases, long flights, and near-death experiences, the dynamic between himself and Reid had shifted. The nuance was somewhat unclear, even to him, but he was certain that something was different, now.

_ He  _ was different, at least. All that focus on never feeling anything past temporary pain, or passion, or relief, and somehow, all of it faded into the background whenever Reid was around.

And now, looking down at the younger man, still asleep (and Morgan wished, beyond anything else, that it was peaceful rest- God knows, the kid needed it)- he was certain of one thing, at least.

No matter how much the feelings scared him, terrified him down to the core, he  _ wanted _ to feel them with Reid. 

Almost unconsciously, his grip on Reid’s pale arm tightened slightly, and as a result, the profiler seemed to jolt in his sleep as he mumbled something softly to himself.

“Mrggg,” was the noise that was emitted from Reid’s mouth, entirely unintelligibly. Nevertheless, Morgan perked up immediately at the sound of his voice- Reid had been asleep for a few hours, and though the doctor had explained that it was a normal reaction to trauma and the medications, he couldn’t help but worry- and nervously anticipate when he would wake up.

The sound he made  _ had _ resembled Morgan’s name, at the very least- almost as if, simply by thinking about Reid, he had willed him to say his name. (And that was pretty freaky, but in their line of work, Morgan would be remiss if he got put off by the little things like that).

“I’m here, Reid, it’s Morgan,” he said in a hushed tone, sliding his hand down to weave his fingers in between Reid’s more bony counterparts.

“Mor-gan?” Reid sounded out slowly, as if the words were a foreign substance against his tongue. He shuffled in place, trying to sit up from his half-lying position.

“It’s me, Reid, here, let me help you,” Morgan responded immediately, grabbing the bed-control remote and pressing the button to raise the mattress into a more comfortable position for him, while still keeping his right hand intertwined with Reid’s. “I’m here.”

Reid’s gentle voice quickly turns to panic when he notices the IV pressing into his veins. “Did they…?” He’s unable to finish the question, but Morgan knows what he’s asking anyway.

“No narcotic meds, Spence- pretty boy, it’s just some heavy duty Tylenol. We wouldn’t forget, you know that,” Morgan chided him softly, though his eyes simply conveyed compassion. “You slept pretty good for a while there, it’s almost, uh, 8:30pm.” Looking at the clock, he realized he had spent far more time inside his own head than he had expected.

Though the sound of Morgan’s voice calmed Reid down substantially, his words did not. “Morg- Derek, I’m missing time, I don’t remember what happened, can you tell me, I don’t remember!” His voice rose in pitch, his hands moving in frenetic motion despite the sling and bandages cocooning his shoulder. 

“Shh, pretty boy,” he spoke softly, trying to help Reid relax against the stiff pillows behind him. “Okay, so after we apprehended Victor, Hotch and Rossi helped us get to the ambulance, and they drove us here- I said I was fine, but they insisted,” he shrugged.

“Okay, tough guy,” Reid said with a subtle snark to his voice. “I see those bruises under your shirt, don’t lie to me.”

Morgan was still caught up with Reid’s new nickname for him (and how much he liked the way it sounded out of his mouth), but he jarred himself out of his thoughts to continue his recounting of the day’s events. 

“ _ Anyway _ , the doctors in the ER realized your shoulder had been dislocated, so they had to set it back into place and wrap it up; that’s probably why your memory is fuzzy, because they had to really drug you up for the procedure,” Morgan responded with a laugh, remembering fondly how loopy Reid had been after that, though his recollection was slightly tainted by the images of Reid feeling the pain from his shoulder.

“You were pretty dehydrated- probably all that coffee you’ve been mainlining since we landed in Cleveland- so Dr. Talbot wanted to keep you on some IV fluids and watch you overnight since there’s a chance your shoulder could swell from the re-location,” he continued.

“Oh- and I think he’s coming back in for a check.”

A short, kind-eyed man in a doctor’s coat appeared at the open door, knocking for good measure. “Dr. Reid, is it? It’s quite good to see you awake.”

Reid smiled softly, even though the motions elicited a small grimace from his face as he tried to lean forward. “Hi. Der- Agent Morgan was just walking me through everything I missed while I was asleep.”

“Yes, he’s been quite a good temporary nurse for you, this afternoon and evening. He hasn’t left your bedside since after we cleared him to leave,” the physician said with a smile. 

That drew Reid to meet Derek’s eyes with confusion, though the older man shrugged it off, not unkindly.

“So, how’s the shoulder feeling?” Dr. Talbot asked, suddenly all-business as he picked up on the slight increase in tension between his patient and friend.

“Not too bad,” Reid offered, though the pained expression on his face indicated otherwise. “Nothing to worry about, at least. I’ve had worse.”

“I’m certain of that, Dr. Reid, but we just want to make sure your pain is being managed with these meds, as Agent Morgan explained you don’t want narcotic medications and non-narcotics can metabolize differently.”

“No, it’s okay, really,” Reid promised, this time squeezing Derek’s previously-unacknowledged fingers laced with his. “Sleeping helped, I promise. Can I, uh, get some water?”

Dr. Talbot smiled genuinely. “No water, I don’t want to overload your system right now, but Agent Morgan can come with me to get some ice chips.” He turned back towards the door, motioning for Derek to follow him.

Morgan was immediately hesitant, looking between the doctor and Reid repeatedly, but he followed him anyway and returned quickly with a plastic spoon and a styrofoam cup filled halfway with ice chips. Dr. Talbot pulled the door almost-closed on his way out, leaving a sliver of the hallway light trickling in.

Reid looked expectantly up at Morgan. “So, Mr. Tough Guy, you haven’t left all day?”

His response was gentle, yet tender. “Uh, no, I didn’t…. I couldn’t.” Morgan sat back down in the chair, handing Reid the styrofoam cup, which he held with shaky hands.

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

They exchanged glances at that, Reid slightly puzzled by the emotion behind Morgan’s eyes.

“Seriously, Morgan, I’m okay, I’m certain you’re tired too, and your arm doesn’t look great. You know that bruises are capillaries bursting under the surface, and if they swell too much, you can get a hematoma, and then it’ll be you in this bed instead of me,” he rambled off, struggling to spoon the ice chips out of the small cup with his non-dominant hand. 

“Shh, stop it, Spence. I want to be here,” Morgan responded. Wordlessly- and without acknowledging that he had switched to using Reid’s first name- he took the cup out of his hands and helped spoon the ice slivers into his open mouth.

And damn, what a sight that was, Reid’s eyes fluttering closed and slightly sticking out his tongue.

If they hadn’t been in a hospital… well, Morgan wouldn’t be held accountable for his actions.

Besides the fact that he still hadn’t told Reid why he was acting so strange- and he was certain that the expert profiler had noticed it.

“Morgan, I’m not some fragile child just because I watched my girlfriend die,” Reid said with a hint of anger in his tone, his mind recalling their late-night conversations the night prior- and the previous weekend. 

“That’s… that’s not it,” Morgan replied, worrying with the fraying ends of his t-shirt. He was glad JJ had brought his go-bag; he hadn’t wanted to spend the rest of the day in the clothes he was held captive in.

Somewhere in his brain, he wondered if Reid realized that he was wearing the shirt that he had lent to him the night before. (And, given Reid’s memory, he was almost certain that he had.)

“Like I said… I didn’t want to leave you,” he reiterated. “I couldn’t. It’s not about all the shit you’ve been through, or me being a good teammate, or orders from Hotch…”

“Then, what is it, Morgan?” This time, Reid’s voice was filled only with sympathy, and worry for his partner. There wasn’t any edge remaining, just the words of one friend caring for another.

“I- I don’t know,” Morgan whispered, almost too afraid to hear his own voice as his thoughts drifted. The only real thing keeping him grounded was the feeling of Reid’s hand in his, the younger man’s thumb rubbing back and forth over his own.

And then, knowing that words could never do justice to whatever feelings were flourishing in the crevice between ribs (his  _ heart _ , he reminded himself)-

Morgan leaned in, and softly kissed Reid’s chapped lips with his own. 


	8. chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (listening for this chapter: nuvole bianche by ludivico einaudi)
> 
> hall and oates may argue that "some things are better left unsaid," but neither spencer nor morgan are particularly fans of leaving anything else up to chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies, my love for italics and parentheses is starting to really show through in these later chapters. 
> 
> this one was one of my favorites (and also hardest) to write so far, so i really hope you like it.  
> i did want to add (in case it wasn't clear by some of my characterization choices) that a lot of the reasoning why i'm writing this fic is a way to deal with my own trauma. it's been a really good outlet so far, and it means SO much that some of you are enjoying it.
> 
> as always, i'm always eager for comments and feedback- please feel free to tell me your favorite line or moment thus far if you feel so inclined.

###  **~chapter eight~**

Though the moment lasted mere seconds, not even half a minute, as their lips connected, it only took seconds more for Derek to pull away, burying his head in his hands with a choked-out sigh.

And somehow, the most prevalent thought on Reid’s mind was simply that Morgan’s hand no longer rested atop his.

“Oh,” he said as a compromise, realizing that no matter how many words, facts, and figures coursed quickly through his brain, none of them had much of a place within the now-empty silence between them. 

But the mono-syllabic statement had little effect, as he looked over at Morgan. The older man was frozen in place, fingers gripping tightly to each other as he seemed to be mumbling to himself, though Reid couldn’t quite make out the words. He stilled, though, listening carefully as he realized that the words were “I’m sorry,” repeated over and over on an endless loop.

Swallowing a grimace (he wasn’t regretting his decision to reject the narcotic medications, but he certainly wasn’t enjoying the embers of pain burning under his swollen skin), Reid lifted his sling-wrapped arm, extending the fingers to brush slowly against Morgan’s.

“Hey,” he spoke, barely above a whisper as Morgan relinquished his tight grasp on his own fingers and softly took hold of Spencer’s instead. “Listen, I know I’ve been asleep and kind of out of it, but I’m okay… you know that?”

The question-asking hint in his tone was probably more for Morgan’s benefit, though for his own as well. He knew he had an unfortunate track record of getting into dangerous predicaments with unsubs, and though it had been many years now, he knew the team had become overprotective of him since the incident with Tobias Hankel (and because of his age but that was a different issue altogether). 

Luckily, his statement did help to pull Morgan out of whatever guilt- or anxiety-fueled state he was in since- the kiss. 

“Shit, Reid, I’m sorry,” Morgan breathed out, a look of worry gracing his face. “I’m so sorry.” Though his fingers were still tangled with Reid’s, she shifted, as if making the decision to get up from his chair at Reid’s side. However, Reid mustered up every bit of strength left in his wounded arm to pull him back into the seat.

“For what?” he asked in response. “For kissing me? Morgan…”

The older man in question stilled. “Yes, Reid, for  _ kissing _ you. I’m sorry, okay? We can forget it, I can just go…”

And though it likely wasn’t the appropriate response, and though Reid’s throat was sore and growing hoarser with every word, somehow- he laughed at that, at Morgan’s statement. Morgan didn’t find it as amusing, though. 

“Please, kid- Reid, don’t laugh, that really doesn’t make this any easier.”

“Are you kidding?” the younger profiler asked incredulously, and though Morgan pulled a face at that, Reid feebly held up one hand (the one that wasn’t still ghosting over Morgan’s fingertips) to signify that he wasn’t quite finished.

“Listen, Derek,” he continued, pausing at how the older man’s first name felt against his tongue. “Seriously, listen. We’ve worked together for almost 10 years now-” he left out the specific listing of years, months, and days, though both he and Morgan knew he was thinking about it- “and we’ve been through, what, 23 hostage situations with the team, and that’s a rough estimate. I was there for you in Chicago, you watched me almost die from anthrax poisoning, you’ve jumped in front of  _ countless  _ bombs like a madman, right?” 

It went unsaid, but both men also added Morgan’s presence in the room when Maeve was shot to that long and unpleasant list. Hesitantly, Morgan nodded along slowly, though with the uncertain storm of thoughts in his head, he wasn’t quite sure of Reid’s intended point with this monologue.

“Okay, so we can establish that we’ve been through a whole  _ hell _ of a lot together,” Reid concluded, Morgan’s eyes flitting towards him as he still hadn’t quite gotten used to hearing the man curse quite so flippantly. “Do you really think I’d kick you out of my hospital room- not like I’d have much luck anyway, as all of my limbs feel like limp bucatini noodles, holes and everything right now- do you really think I’d kick you out of here right now because you kissed me?”

Morgan had played out many scenarios in his head- though most didn’t exactly start with him kissing Reid while he laid in a hospital bed, that was for sure- but none of them were going quite like this. He had expected sadness, above all, from Reid in the wake of the loss of his first (and perhaps only, though Morgan wasn’t quite ready to confront that thought) love. He thought perhaps the only thing he didn’t have to worry about was homophobia from Reid; though they had never discussed it outright, Reid’s queerness (as that was the identifier he preferred) was known by all members of the team, and they’d all seen him pick up a guy instead of a girl at one or two of their nights at the bar. So, while he hadn’t exactly run the probability in the way that Reid would have, this was still somewhat foreign.

He just hadn’t exactly expected it to go quite like this, Reid almost joyful- perhaps contented- at the situation. 

“Alright, that’s enough out of me, for now,” Reid relented, looking pained as he once again leaned back against the hospital-issue pillows behind him. “Your turn.”

But honestly, Morgan probably would’ve listened to Reid talk all day if he’d let him.

(And God, how on earth had his feelings developed so quickly?  _ Or had they _ , he thought to himself,  _ and I’m just now realizing how long I’ve felt this way for my best friend? _ )

In truth, he wasn’t sure. They  _ had _ been friends for so long, and through so much- Reid’s short recounting of their shared histories didn't even begin to cover the loss of Gideon, and of Elle, and of Emily twice, or anything else that they had faced.

Perhaps it was almost sort of natural how his platonic feelings had given way into so much more.

Reid’s gentle prodding of his fingers jarred him out of a train of thought that probably could have continued for hours, as it had while Reid was asleep earlier. “Der- uh, Morgan?”

“Yeah- uh- sorry,” Morgan stuttered out, still somewhat unsteady as he meshed his thoughts together with the feeling of Reid’s hand against his. “I should’ve asked, though.” 

“Yes, probably,” was Reid’s response. “I just don’t know what I would’ve said.” And perhaps that would’ve been a kick to Morgan’s psyche, but somehow, it just wasn’t, not exactly.

“That’s fair. I don’t, uh- I don’t exactly know why I did it,” he admitted.

The younger doctor certainly had an answer to that one, as he always did to questions like that. “Well, there’s a lot of reasons- trauma response, for one, since we did experience a near-miss at getting our skulls sliced open. Or the release of endorphins and adrenaline to spur a semi-autonomic response, or misplaced empathy, or really anything.”

“Or, pretty boy,” Morgan offered, taking the biggest of breaths he can before the world starts to drown him in waves of emotion all the way up to his neck. “Or, I like you.”

His phrasing is simple, if not a little pedantic- because he and Reid can skate around the science of it for hours, but a kiss is a kiss is a kiss. But honest, none the same, and it’s more honest than even he realizes.

And Reid just freezes. He probably knew it was coming, felt the words creeping out of Morgan’s brain- they always did have some special non-verbal communication cues, didn’t they?- but hearing it is another thing entirely. 

“I…” Reid says. “Oh.”

This time it’s Morgan’s turn to laugh, because the kid who never shuts up can apparently be silenced with one kiss. If you could call it that, the lightest brush of lips to lips.

So, with a lack of any better ideas, Morgan gently pulls Reid towards him by the hand and kisses him again. 

It’s different, and still the same- the lightest taste of sugar on Reid’s lips against his, the nervousness radiating from both of them. But this time, he doesn’t pull away out of fear, or shame, and instead due to the feeling of unadulterated serenity washing over him.

He doesn’t deny how  _ weird _ it feels, if he looks at it from an objective angle (as Reid is likely doing, because the younger man just can’t resist a good mathematical workup) instead of the purely emotion-riddled standpoint. This is, after all, the person he’s closest to on the team, especially since Emily left (well, left, came, and left again), and there’s still that nagging feeling that by kissing Reid- twice, now- he has thrown all of that closeness and understanding out of the metaphorical window.

But for now, he leans back against the plastic chair, forcing his mind to stop its incessant chatter inside his head and turning his focus back towards Reid, who is now turning an almost-laughable shade of pink. 

“Does that help clear it up?” He chuckles this time, marveling at the softness of Reid’s mouth despite the trauma of the past twenty-four hours (and the past 10 months, though that goes unsaid).

“No!” Reid squeaks out, though his face tells a slightly different story. “Yes.. I don’t know?” is the answer he settles on. “It’s just… it’s a lot, Derek.”

The shift to a more serious tone is what draws Morgan’s eyes back to him, scooting almost impossibly closer to his bed in his rickety hospital chair.

“What do you mean, bab- pretty boy,” Morgan cuts himself off before finishing the affectionate term his mouth’s been itching to use for- well, too long, now that he thinks about it. "You seemed, okay with it, when I said I liked you, right?"

“I don’t know! It’s just  _ everything _ , and after Maeve- hell, after Hankel, but I tried to ignore it,” and his voice grows colder and more hollow at that interjection, “everyone has treated me like I’m going to break down, and I get it, because I feel like I’m breaking down, but you could just- I don’t  _ know _ , Morgan, you could just  _ tell  _ me that you care instead of kissing me like your lips are some sort of raft to cling to while I’m sinking, because you  _ know _ how I’ve felt about you for so long and now it’s just mean, and some sort of sick fucking joke because I watched my girlfriend die and now the only other person I’ve ever  _ loved _ is kissing me and I don’t know what it means- and you're saying that you _like_ me but I don't know _how_ , and I’m tired, and I’m hurting, and that is the  _ first time _ I’ve stopped hurting even a little bit in so long, and I don’t need your lips as a sympathetic gesture!” Reid almost collapses backwards, again, after he finishes his impossibly-long sentence, and Morgan absently wonders if he even took a breath the whole time.

He’s also stuck processing all of the words that Reid said, as they all flew by so desperately fast.

“Oh, Reid,” is the first thing Morgan manages to say, but then realizes that that probably only further re-emphasizes the pandering sympathy Reid has come to despise. “I don’t think you’re going to break down. Hell, kid, you’re probably the strongest out of all of us, especially after all the shit you’ve been through. And I  _ do _ care, and I guess I’ve done a really crappy job of telling you, but I mean it.”

Morgan offers Reid a small smile before continuing, making sure that the younger man is continuing to breathe as he clutches Morgan’s fingers with one hand and the cup of now-melting ice chips in the other.

“I wouldn’t ever kiss you as a joke, seriously man, I’d never do that to you- or anyone for that matter,” he presses, trying with every syllable of his words to convince Reid of that. He  _ knows _ that things like that have happened to him in the past- he remembers the goalpost story far too well- but he prays that Reid doesn’t see him like any of those childhood tormentors. 

He’s about to continue his line-by-line response to Reid’s somewhat-justified rant when it all just sort of  _ clicks _ .

“Wait.”

There it is.

“You  _ love  _ me?” Morgan’s voice is incredulous, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. Which, in Reid’s eyes, is somewhat ridiculous, because  _ have you seen yourself, Morgan? You’re probably the most attractive person the FBI has ever hired, why do you think they stick you on their promotional fliers every year _ ?

Reid looks at him this time, and where he expects to see disgust, or discomfort, or something else starting with the dis- prefix that he hasn’t determined yet, but all he’s met with is raw, vulnerable eyes that might be starting to well up with the slightest bit of tears.

And Reid’s about to start talking again, to ask the questions he’s been forcing himself not to ask of the older man for  _ years _ , when there’s a knock on the door.

~

Because of course, visiting hours are more of a formality when you’re with the FBI, right? This time, it’s just JJ and Blake, and he’s glad for that, because he’s not sure if he’s in the mood to deal with Hotch’s steely glares again quite yet. The man means no harm, but he’s not exactly the greatest at showing emotion ( _ like I’m one to talk, after that word-vomit I just served Morgan with _ , Reid begrudgingly thinks to himself), and that’s not exactly what Reid or Morgan need right now.

Then again, two female heavily-experienced profilers walking in on an injured man who just admitted his long-term feelings of love to his best friend, who had also just kissed him ( _ twice _ ) in a matter of minutes?

Either way, it’s not looking good for Reid’s sanity at the moment.

He cracks a small smile as they enter, though he can’t tell if it’s because of their presence or the slight tightening of Morgan’s fingers around his own.

JJ is the first to rush to his side, hugging him as tightly as she can with all the IV cords in the way. She gives him a look that could probably only be described as “motherly” when she notices that his bandaged arm and shoulder is intertwined with Morgan’s, and Reid hopes she catches his almost-imperceptible head shake- as if asking her to  _ please, don’t say a word _ . 

“How are you feeling?” she asks, as Blake too leans down to give him a hug. 

“I’m doing okay,” is his reply, though his shaky voice is a dead giveaway that it’s a bit of a lie. 

“Well, you’re certainly in good hands,” Blake offers, her eyes lingering perhaps too long on Morgan’s own.

“How did you guys even sneak in here?” Morgan asks, hoping to avoid any sort of tone indicating what they’ve missed. His question is pretty valid- it’s just past 10pm now, and visiting hours ended hours ago. He’d only been allowed to stay because Hotch had convinced Reid’s doctor, and even that hadn’t been easy.

Brandishing an old, tattered hardbound book, JJ offers an answer. “Well, after I brought you both your go-bags, I went back to your room to make sure I didn’t forget anything and I found this sitting on the couch, halfway under the blankets. I’m assuming this is yours, Spence? We waited until after wrapping things up at the station and grabbing dinner, since we wanted to see you after you were awake and feeling a bit better.”

He tries to take it from her, but his hand is too weak, so she places it on the tray in front of him. “Thank you, Jayje. It’s my copy of ‘Dead Souls,’ I was reading it on the plane and annotating it back at the hotel. I’m sorry I forgot to put it back in my bag…”

Morgan wonders when Reid had found time to read it in the hotel room only a night prior, but he assumes it was likely while he was in the shower- before he came out to see Reid crying, and everything shifted for the first time.

Well, not the  _ first  _ time, since he’s starting to build a timeline of his changing feelings for Reid, and they certainly date back ( _ far _ back, though he’s not sure by how much) to before this trip to Cleveland. So he settles on describing it as the “first time in his most recent memory.”

“It’s no problem, Spence, JJ and I mostly just used it as an excuse to come visit, since Hotch and Rossi saw you earlier and Morgan’s been hogging you all day,” Blake teases, though there’s no fire in her words. “Is there anything else we can do? That shoulder looks pretty terrible.”

“I’m alright, seriously. The meds they have me on haven’t metabolized too quickly, so that’s been good. I’ll be on that plane with you guys tomorrow morning, and no one’s going to stop me.” His statement elicits a short laugh from all four of them, himself included- they’re all aware of just how determined Reid can be when he wants something.

Reid smiles, realizing just how much he’s missed these small interactions with the team. He’s not entirely sure what changed to make him feel a little bit lighter, like the world’s not weighing him down quite so much.

But it’s probably got something to do with the man holding his hand, even though neither he nor Reid are exactly sure what it means. They both know there’s still so much to talk about, but even as he sits there, thinking over all the uncertainties, one thing remains constant:

Morgan’s his best friend, and if all the shit they’ve been through together hasn’t changed that, he (cautiously) doubts that anything will.

Blake and JJ stick around for a little while longer, doting on Reid like he knows they’ve been dying to do ever since Maeve died, and he disappeared. It’s nice, if not a little smothering, but nice all the same. 

After about half an hour of getting all the latest gossip from JJ and Garcia, who they video-conference in- and seriously, how the hell did he miss so much office drama after only being gone for such a short period of time- his eyes are starting to droop, and Blake and JJ take their leave, blowing fake kisses as they exit.

Though they’ll never tell anyone- except perhaps Garcia, of course- they don’t talk about anything else but Reid and Morgan on the way back to the hotel.

~

As the door shuts behind them (all the way, this time, with none of the pesky hallway fluorescents seeping in), Reid turns his attention back to Morgan. He  _ is _ tired, no doubt about that, and he doubts he’ll be awake for much longer- despite the long nap he took under the influence of his pain medication- 

“So, where were we?” He asks innocently, and Morgan  _ chokes _ , looking at him with wild eyes.

“For all things sane, Morgan, I wasn’t referring to sex,” Reid says with a laugh, taking mental photographs of the way Morgan’s face twists, though it fades as his tone shifts to sound more serious. “I was talking about our conversation. We, uh, kinda left off at a critical juncture.”

Morgan’s eyes on him, surprisingly, don’t feel like they’re boring under his skin; instead, it’s a sort of comforting gesture, like the feeling of sunshine after being in the rain. ( _ Now I really  _ do _ sound like those poetry quotes Garcia’s always texting to me _ , Reid reckons.)

“We did, indeed,” the older man says. “You, um- you said that you loved me.”

And Reid’s fighting every temptation to take it back, to withdraw his words from existence and pray that Morgan forgets, but even without Reid’s eidetic memory, he doubts that’s much of a possibility. Instead, he settles for a simple “Yes, I did.” in response.

“Okay,” is Morgan’s ever-calculated answer, though Reid searches for more in his eyes. “I… shit, Reid, couldn’t you have told me that years ago?”

“Would it have made a difference?” Reid responds. Again, the profiler-dead-giveaway of answering one question with another. 

“Christ, Spence,” Morgan sighs, daring to graze his free hand over the younger man’s cheekbone. He’s not sure why he does it, but something inside him tells him to, and he’s too far gone (tired, for sure, but also overwhelmed with pent-up emotions as well) to resist. 

“Yes, it would’ve.”

“Why?”

“I probably wouldn’t have spent so much time pining and sleeping with every tall, dirty-blonde headed person- male or female, I didn’t have much space to be picky- that even remotely reminded me of you,” Morgan concedes, and though Reid’s grown comfortable with this semi-emotion-dump they’re both participating in, that last sentence shocks him. “Because if I had  _ known _ , I wouldn’t have had to seek out surrogate partners to replace my best friend in my bed.” 

“Oh.”

“Reid, can you  _ please _ stop responding to all of my semi-heartfelt statements like that? You’re killing me here,” he jokes, but his hand against Reid’s cheek curves to cup his face as he gives the younger man a chance to speak. 

“Oh,” is Reid’s first word, and Morgan adores this kid (perhaps loves him, though he’s not ready to admit that to himself  _ or  _ to Reid yet, so he swallows it down), but damn if he’s not tempted to flick him in the nose right about now.

“Sorry, again. I’m just- struggling to process a little bit right now. Morgan, how long have you felt this way?”

“Honestly, kid- Reid, I don’t know. I didn’t really start to admit it to myself until recently, but seeing you almost get scalpeled-to-death sort of does that to a guy,” he says with a small laugh, unwavering. “But, seriously, looking back?”

“I haven’t been with anyone else in over a year, haven’t wanted to. I think JJ’s wedding, and that whole bank case, sparked something, made me see it? I don’t know how long I’ve felt it, though. It just sort of feels like it’s always been there, sitting right under the surface,” Morgan admits, prodding at the skin between his ribs, next to his heart. “I think I’ve known for a while, a long while, but it clicked when I was talking Victor out of killing us today. Everything about love, it just sort of made it real for me.”

Spencer shakes his head, not in anger but with a hint of disbelief. “Me too.” His voice gets small. “I wish you had told me.”

“I wish I had too.”

“So, now what?” is Reid’s next question, ever the pragmatist, Morgan supposes. “What does this mean?”

And though Morgan wants to answer, would probably do unspeakable things to find the words to give a suitable answer to the younger man whose hand he can’t bear to let go of, he’s not sure if he can. “I don’t know.”

“Me either,” Reid responds, and Morgan could almost thank God for that, because even though he hates how unsteady he is about all of this, it helps to know he’s not the only one.

“I think we both have a lot more we need to say. I want this- whatever this is- so please don’t think I don’t, but I want to take things slow,” is as best as Morgan can offer.

“Me too. I’m just so tired…” Reid tells him, and he can feel his own eyes starting to close of their own accord too. 

“You really do need to get some rest, Spence,” Morgan says. The younger man nods, and Morgan gets up to move to the small couch- he’ll be cramped, but it seems like it’ll at least produce a slightly better night’s sleep than the plastic chair, though he’s not keen about leaving Reid’s side.

“Stay,” Reid offers, and Morgan’s instantly transported back to the memory of the previous Saturday (and God, that feels so recent and so distant all at once), when Reid said the very same thing to him in his apartment.

“Uh, kid, I really like you and everything,” and it’s not a lie, he really does, “but I’m not sure sleeping in a chair’s the best idea for me.” He points to the bruises lining his arms, and can feel the ones dotting his spine.

“That’s… that’s not what I mean. Will you lay with me?” Reid asks, his voice soft- and shit, did his eyes just flutter? Morgan’s not sure how much he can take. 

“Pretty boy, that’s not taking things slow, now is it?” he retorts, though his tone is proving him a traitor. 

“I don’t want to  _ do _ anything-” a blush forms across Reid’s cheeks- “I just don’t want to be away from you right now. Hold me?”

And Morgan’s strong- he’s got the muscles to prove it- but damn, there’s no way he’s saying no to that.

So he slowly, gently helps Reid move over in the bed, being careful not to dislodge or mess with his IV or carefully-bandaged arm, before sliding into the bed himself (and praying that they both wake up before the team comes back to check on them in the morning).

“I’m here,” he whispers against the back of Reid’s neck, the younger man’s hair tickling the tip of his nose.

“Thank you,” Reid murmurs, and curls into Morgan’s side when the older profiler kisses his cheek. “Goodnight, Morgan.”

“Goodnight, Reid.”


	9. chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am damaged at best // like you've already figured out  
> (broken - lighthouse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the absurd delay on this chapter- i genuinely thought i had posted chapter 9, but i hadn't, so i started working on chapter 10, oops! so here's 9 + 10, combined. 
> 
> i'm not gonna lie to you guys, i'm going through some pretty rough personal challenges right now. tomorrow is a new trauma anniversary for me, and i'm not coping well to say the least. this fic has helped some, but i'm not incredibly confident in my update schedule for the next couple of weeks.   
> as always, i appreciate support, comments, and feedback.

###  **~chapter ten~**

Morgan wakes up first, stilling for a moment as his brain tries to register where he is before remembering- with help from the thin, messy-haired man lying softly in his arms- that he had stayed the night with Reid in the hospital.

That explains the glaring fluorescents seeping in from the now-cracked-open door, and the IV tubing that has gotten slightly tangled against Reid’s forearm as the pair slept. The younger man’s shoulder bandages have shifted, exposing the ruby-red bruising and hairpin scratches against his clavicle bones. 

The other thing he notices (besides the pain that’s resurfacing in his arms and the back of his head), as his eyes start to formally process the situation he’s in, is just how  _ warm _ he feels. 

His logic might not have been particularly sound, and not at all based in fact, but he had always assumed that Reid would just be sort of, well, cold. The kid’s skinny as all hell, and he’s rarely seen without at least a sweater or cardigan on, even in the summer. He’s a fiend for hot coffee, and it’s likely not only because it’s a reasonable way to mainline sugar into his system. Warmth just didn’t seem to be native to Reid’s vocabulary.

But feelings can’t lie, at least not when Reid’s comfortably-hot skin is pressed up against Morgan’s clothed body. He’s dressed only in boxer briefs and the standard-issue hospital gown (which is, as predicted, hanging off of his narrow frame), and though very little skin is actually exposed, save for the parts near his shoulder sling, he can feel the heat radiating between them.

As he cranes his neck towards the clock on the makeshift nightstand, he can see that it’s only minutes past 7 o’clock in the morning. They were lucky, getting to sleep in this late without being disturbed, though he knows that the slight opening in the door means that someone- likely Dr. Talbot- had arrived to check on them (or rather, just Reid) at some point during the night. Morgan moves, almost unconsciously, to pull Reid closer to him, as if trying to immortalize the moment. 

Reid stirs slightly in his sleep, and Morgan freezes, listening to the hitch in the younger man’s breathing. However, it’s just a passing moment, as Reid then pulls Morgan’s arm almost impossibly-tighter around his torso, and he can’t help but comply.

There’s something so simple about this moment, so  _ easy _ . His body and Reid’s own, fitting together in the somewhat-uncomfortable hospital bed as if their bodies had no reason to ever be apart again. And honestly, he hopes that’s true.

The calmness surrounding them both fills Morgan with such an unexpected joy that he’s honestly not sure what to do with the overflow of emotions he’s feeling. His mind, instead, drifts back to the conversations they shared last night. 

It had been difficult, and complicated in every sense, to listen to Reid assume so little of him- that he’d kissed him only as some sort of misplayed display of sympathy for all the tragedies Reid had faced. And in the middle of it, in the midst of words that hurt far more than he’d be comfortable admitting to anyone (though he knows Reid said them out of fear, and not any real anger)- Reid had admitted that he loved Morgan, and had for some time now.

_ Love _ .

One short word, and yet even replaying the moment over in his head still caused butterflies to leap around inside Morgan’s chest- not unlike the feeling he had had, so many times recently, when his eyes lingered on Reid a little too long. 

Reid loved him. Morgan, who had started their friendship by poking fun at Reid every chance he got. Morgan, who was still facing demons of his own, as he struggled to come to grips with the feelings he had for another man. Morgan, who could sleep with nearly anyone who was interested in him, but still couldn’t admit his own feelings in any sort of way that made sense.

Morgan, who, without a doubt, would do anything to keep Reid safe.

As Morgan continued his reflection on the previous night’s events (and, without a doubt, drawing connections to other moments in their shared history), Reid began to wake from his heavy slumber, shifting to face the older profiler.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Morgan drawled, barely above a whisper. He couldn't help the wide grin beginning to cross his face as he looked at Reid. 

Sleepy, sleepy Reid, with his hair forming nimbostratus clouds around his beautiful face. 

“Good morning, Morgan.”

Reid seemed to notice their position, as he curved his non-bandaged arm to fit in the gap left by Morgan’s waist. “You didn’t leave,” he said with a smile.

“I told you, kid, I’m not going anywhere.” Morgan couldn’t resist leaning in and placing a soft kiss against the younger man’s forehead. “And you know I’m good at keeping my promises.”

“Thank you,” Reid responded, and Morgan chuckled at the rosy blush forming on his cheeks at the gesture. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Morgan replied, cursing himself a little at the cheesiness of his statement. 

“I’m glad.”

They lie there for a moment more, and Morgan’s about to open his mouth to speak when he notices the slight sparkle in Reid’s eye.

Then, the next thing he knows, Reid is pressing his warm lips against his, so gentle it feels like a whisper, before pulling back and smiling bigger than Morgan’s probably ever seen.

“What was that for? I mean, pretty boy, I’m not complaining, but…”

“I had to make sure this was real.”

And it’s a simple answer, but somehow, the rawness of it makes Morgan’s heart break, ever so slightly.

“Kid, I told you, I’m in this, whatever it is,” Morgan reassures him with a deep, heavy tone.

“I know… it just felt like a dream, last night. I know tactile responses in REM sleep dreams are uncommon, but still. I needed to know that it was real, and that I could do that,” Reid explains, moving his hands quickly. Even with one arm bandaged heavily in a sling, he’s still the most expressive person Morgan’s ever seen as he talks with his hands.

Morgan laughs. “Ah, good to know I kiss so good that it’s like a dream.” His words are joking, but he’s fighting back his own words about how nice Reid’s lips felt against his own, and how reassuring the man’s short kiss was.

“Well.”

“What was that?”

“It’s that you kiss so  _ well _ , not kiss so good,” Reid reminds him.

“Oh, so you liked it, huh?”

“Come on, Morgan, I was correcting your grammar,” Reid deflects, but his face is anything but serious. “And, yes. I did like it, very much so.”

“Good.”

The pair lie together, exchanging glances as their eyes communicate with the words they’re both still too afraid to say aloud. There’s still so much unsaid, so many practicalities to work out, but somehow, it’s still peaceful, as their eyes lock.

And Morgan steals a kiss or two of his own, matching the gentleness of Reid’s.

It’s just  _ nice _ , for lack of a better word.

They’re both so used to complicated, stressful, unsteadiness in their own lives (both professional and personal), and though Morgan and Reid know it won’t stay this easy forever, they’ll take all the simplicity they can get. 

~

When the team flies back to Washington D.C., only a couple hours after Reid is discharged from the hospital (despite the quiet protests of his doctor, who had wanted to keep him slightly longer due to the inflammation pulsating on his shoulder), everything is- at least in the eyes of most of the team- back to normal.

Or, at least, the BAU’s own unique version of “normal.”

Morgan decided to sit in the row across from the short sofa on the jet, where Reid has chosen to lay. He is, to no one’s surprise, being doted on by both JJ and Blake, who- after having spent very little time with him while working the Meg Campbell case in the previous days- weren’t altogether shy about wanting to give more attention to the young profiler. They had asked him (at least five times during the brief plane flight) whether or not he wanted water, ice chips, a snack, extra pillows, extra blankets- it could’ve felt like smothering behavior, but honestly, it was nice to feel taken care of.

(Not that Morgan hadn’t been giving him all the attention- and more- that he had been craving, especially this morning.)

The older man looked at his younger partner- and God, that word was starting to take on quite a dual meaning- with affection, though he tried to mask the overwhelming feelings of compassion on his face. He and Reid hadn’t spent much time discussing how they’d approach their newfound connection with the rest of the team, but he knew the man well, and given how much they’d both gone through recently, he knew better than to broadcast it to his coworkers on the plane.

Though it wasn’t easy, by any stretch of the imagination. Morgan had to restrain himself (quite literally, as he buckled his often-forgotten seatbelt on his reclining seat) from slipping onto the couch next to Reid and enveloping him with his arms.

To his credit, Reid did look incredibly comfortable, even on his own; his bandaged arm was propped up on a short stack of pillows, and a reasonably soft blanket covered his lap.

JJ leaned against the back of Morgan’s seat, a styrofoam cup in her hand. After all, it was only around 11am, and given their track record the past few days, no one had gotten much sleep recently.

“You sure you don’t need anything else, Spence?” she asked, sipping at her lukewarm coffee. “I know your shoulder is probably killing you right now. I’ve had a few dislocations like that, and they’re not fun.” Her voice was comforting, yet slightly distant. Hotch looked over at her, noticing that she was probably referencing her time on her contract with the Pentagon; he didn’t know the details of her assignment, but she had alluded to some of its difficulties, especially the more painful moments.

Reid smiled, and JJ seemed to relish in how genuine it looked. She had been particularly vocal in her concern for the younger man, and his altered outlook recently had brought her quite a bit of joy.

“I’m fine, Jayje, I promise,” he replied. “Really, the shoulder joint is the most common place for a dislocation in the human body, and since I’m in the 75% of cases that didn’t induce a fracture, it’ll probably just throb for a little while longer and then fade.” His words were fairly neutral, but his face indicated that he was feeling slightly more pain than he let on.

And Morgan, of course, was quick to notice.

“Pretty boy, you know she’s just tryna mother you- that’s what happens whenever we’re on a case away from Quantico and Henry, you know that,” Morgan teased, flinching slightly as JJ flicked his forehead. Though no one mentioned it, they all noticed Derek’s use of the familiarly affectionate nickname; since Maeve, they had all shied away from terms of endearment like that for the younger man, but Reid didn’t seem too put off by it.

In fact, as Blake looked on at the scene- Reid stretched out on the too-short couch, JJ hovering over him, and Morgan laughing, with his eyes glued to Reid- it appeared like their younger teammate had responded quite receptively. His cheeks flushed with a blush-like sheen, and he and Morgan exchanged a look that her background in linguistics had given her some insight to understanding.

She’d never ask, of course, especially since she still felt like a slight outsider to the team’s intricate dynamics, but she was certain that their relationship had evolved, even in the span of the last 24 hours. After all, she and JJ had spent their time after visiting Reid in the hospital gossiping about the two of them. JJ wasn’t quite as convinced, but Blake knew that was likely because she was waiting to hear it from them herself.

Hotch’s stern voice interrupted the comfortable silence filling the narrow jet.

“Reid, I know I’m not as authoritative as your doctors when it comes to this, but from me, you’re under strict orders not to drive for a few days.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I took the bus to get to FBI headquarters before the case started anyway. My car’s just been in the deck at my apartment for a while,” Reid offered, pulling the blanket around his thin frame.

Their Unit Chief cocked an eyebrow. He had hoped that Reid would’ve revealed (or at least alluded to) the developing partnership forming between him and Morgan- that’s what his statement was attempting to produce, at least- but to no avail.

Luckily, Morgan was ever-eager to solve that problem, even if unintentionally.

“Nah, kid. You really think we’re gonna let you get bumped into and jostled around on public transit, with your shoulder bandaged up six ways to Sunday? No way in hell, pretty boy,” Morgan said with a laugh. “You’re coming with me, and I’m not gonna take “no” for an answer this time.”

His words hung in the air, the rest of the plane’s inhabitants wondering when else this situation had occurred between the two- and noticing the second usage of the “pretty boy” pet name.

And though Reid sighed, and pulled a face of refusal, his words held no real weight. “Oh, what ever would I do without Derek Morgan, my protector?” He ducked his head almost immediately, realizing his phrasing strayed from that familiar with an ordinary friendship.

The rest of the team didn’t draw any attention to it, however, realizing quickly that though the two men were certainly hiding something (and most of them, expert profilers as they were, had already figured it out), neither one were ready to discuss it openly with them.

Rossi, still, smiled as his eyes met Morgan’s. As the self-proclaimed “oldest and wisest” member of the team, Dave hoped his look could communicate all the words that he refrained from speaking out loud.

_ Take care of Reid. He trusts you more than anyone else. _

_ More importantly, he  _ needs _ you right now. _

_ I’ve known for a long time how you’ve felt about him- and how he’s felt about you. Trust in that, and allow it to help you. Reid’s got a lot of healing left to do. The kid’s survived far more than we give him credit for, and your love- as well as friendship- for him will help. But if you need us, we’re here. _

_ And we’re all rooting for you both.  _

~

As promised, as the BAU team descended from the jet after landing in Quantico, Reid made his way towards Morgan’s car as the older man walked next to him, shouldering both of their bags. The pair walked slowly, exchanging soft words in a quick-moving conversation, as the rest of the team watched from their spot near the entrance to the parking deck.

“I knew it was coming, I think,” Hotch admitted, not without a smile- rare, for him, ever since Haley had died. 

Rossi nodded. “There were definite, ah,  _ sparks _ flying when we visited them yesterday.”

“Sparks?” JJ asked, laughing as Garcia approached them. “That’s not giving Morgan enough credit, don’t you think? I saw that he was holding Reid’s hand when Blake and I stopped by; he noticed I was looking, too.”

Garcia’s heels clicked on the pavement as she reached the four remaining members of the team. “What’d I miss? What was JJ looking at?”

Blake turned to her, smiling broadly. “Hey, Pen- we were gossiping about Morgan and Reid. Something seems to be stirring between them, and for profilers, they’re both fairly useless at their subtlety.”

The technical analyst’s eyebrows shot up immediately. “Wait, what? He finally admitted it??”

All four profilers broke out in laughter. “Which  _ he _ are you referring to here, Pen?” Blake asked. It was odd, that the ever-aware analyst was last to know something, for once. 

“Derek, of course! My strapping hero-man, he’s been stifling his crush on the good doctor for years,” Garcia grinned, tapping away on her cell phone. “Good on him for making a move- his timing sucks, though, with everything that’s happened recently. But, I suppose, the heart wants what the heart wants.’

Hotch, who had been mostly silent as the girls mused over their male coworkers’ intimate lives, spoke up. “Alright, alright. I trust them both, and they’ll tell us when they’re ready, okay? We all know how much they’ve both struggled, so if they’re happy, let’s just let them be happy.”

The rest of the team nodded in agreement.

“I know, trust me,” JJ added. “I remember how much Em pushed me to go after Will during a case, even when we were already dating. I promise I won’t say a word about it until they do. I gotta run, though- Will, Henry, and I have an afternoon date with some cartoons and grilled cheese. I’ll see y’all in two days, unless we get a case before then.”

Though most members of the team had fared well during the Cleveland case, given the circumstances, Hotch had been able to swing them a day and a half break before they were all needed back at the BAU. They were all quite grateful, though none of them were exactly sure how to spend the much-needed break, especially since it fell in the middle of the week rather than on a weekend.

Regardless, JJ and Rossi quickly headed to their respective cars in the lot, while Blake and Hotch went back into the office to finalize paperwork. Garcia, still amused by the recent developments with her best friend and  _ his  _ best friend, smiled as she dialed Kevin’s number on her cell phone.

“Hey, hot stuff. Wanna grab lunch? My team’s off the rest of the day, so I have some time that I’d like to spend with you,” she drawled, biting back a laugh as she heard him sputter at her proposal.

“See you at 1, Kev.”

~

Morgan kept his distance as he and Reid got settled into his car in the deck, and as they drove past the FBI clearance signs. But, as he turned left and drove out of the downtown district, he reached out and entangled his fingers with Reid’s.

“Alright, pretty boy. Honesty hour. How’re you feeling?” Morgan’s voice was quiet, sensing that Reid had been struggling more than he was letting on.

As he expected, Reid sighed and shifted in his seat, grimacing as he did so. “My shoulder hurts a lot more than I expected. I guess the drugs they were pumping into me at the hospital were a lot more effective than I realized. Thanks, again, for giving me a ride home. I appreciate it.”

The older man smiled. “I’m sorry, babe,” he replied, hoping he hadn’t alienated his partner with the usage of the affectionate term. “I know you’re trying to pull a brave face for the rest of the team; I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to do it with me.”

“It’s just hard, you know?” Reid said, his question being immediately answered in Morgan’s head with a resounding  _ yes _ . “I just feel like I was living in a bubble for the past two days- despite the whole ‘getting blitzed and semi-tortured by a murderous unsub couple’ part- and now I feel like I’m thrown back into the deep end.” He lowered his head and worried at his bottom lip.

Morgan slowed to a stop at the intersection’s red light, taking a moment to glance over at the man. “Pretty boy, uh- you don’t have to go home alone, you know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you, uh, come home with me?” Morgan suggested, though he continued driving to Reid’s apartment on the outskirts of town. “We can swing by your place and grab you some clothes, books, whatever, but… you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be.”

“Are you sure?”

Morgan sighed softly, saddened by how unconfident Reid sounded in each of his statements. “Yeah, I’m sure. We’ll just run up to your apartment and pick you out some things, and then we can just go to my place. I’m not implying anything, kid. I know you’re still feeling on edge… let me help.”

He paused, waiting for Reid’s response, and couldn’t resist squeezing lightly around the man’s fingers. 

“Okay,” Reid replied, his one word retort echoing his usage of “Oh” to field Morgan’s statements of adoration the day before.

“I’m gonna assume that’s a resounding yes, and you’re just going all shy on me,” Morgan flirted. “Thanks for trusting me, Spencer. We can just, I don’t know, lounge around for a day and pray we don’t have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn for a case tomorrow.”

That made Reid laugh, finally; the sound was musical to Morgan’s ears.

“Plus, it’s as good of a time as any for you to meet Clooney,” Morgan added (and smiled at Reid’s hesitation at his statement), as they turned onto Reid’s street. He had dropped the younger man off before, so he knew the route.

Minutes later, they were heading up the stairs towards Reid’s apartment; though the elevator was faster, Reid’s claustrophobia had heightened recently, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Reid unlocked his door and swung it open, allowing the older man to follow him inside.

“Sorry, it’s still kind of a mess,” Reid lamented. Even though Morgan, JJ, and Garcia had aided him in cleaning up his living room the previous weekend, he still felt somewhat apprehensive with letting his newfound… partner? Boyfriend? Lover? His newfound  _ something _ , into his place.

“Kiddo, you know I don’t mind at all. This place just reminds me of you,” Morgan said as he moved slowly, standing by Reid’s side. “Come on. Let’s grab a duffle bag or something and get you some stuff for a day or two.”

Reid complied, motioning for Morgan to follow him into his bedroom- this was part of the apartment that he hadn’t yet seen, and though neither mentioned it, the air was tinged with nervousness.

Those feelings were pushed aside, however, as Reid opened the door and the pair entered the bedroom. It was exactly as Morgan had expected, though his heart still fluttered (and he choked the feeling down, still not understanding it fully) at the sight.

The room’s walls were a pale blue, and there was one large window that allowed the mid-noon sunlight to fill each corner. Reid’s bed was low to the ground, with a short nightstand on either side; books were piled atop each one, alongside a few empty coffee mugs. 

As Morgan’s eyes traveled around the room, Reid began grabbing clothes out of his narrow dresser, as well as random items from the bathroom. When he passed him again, Morgan reached out to graze his back.

“Pretty boy… Reid. Slow down for a minute?” Morgan suggested. When the younger man stilled, he immediately pulled him closer for a hug.

And damn, if the feeling of Reid’s cheek against his own didn’t feel like salvation.

They stayed like that for moments more, soaking up each other’s presence. Morgan was first to move, pulling away ever-so-slightly.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered into Reid’s ear. “I know there’s a lot of unknowns right now- Maeve, the job, me- but we’re going to survive it, okay?” His words ghosted against Reid’s skin.

“Morgan…” Reid murmured, meeting his eyes. His own hazel eyes were starting to fill with tears, and his mouth opened as if about to speak, but instead he tilted his head and captured Morgan’s mouth with a kiss. 

That feeling, soft lips against more coarse ones, was still so new, so unexpected to him. The words of a poem, e.e. cummings, sprung to mind.

_ i like my body when it is with your _

_ body. It is so quite new a thing _ .

He held himself back from quoting it aloud, but his lips moved involuntarily against Morgan’s, deepening the kiss as the older man’s arms snaked across his back. He felt almost trapped- no, not trapped, but enclosed, in a way that was safe, and surprisingly so. He continued to kiss Morgan, relishing in the feeling as his lips seemed to map out every nerve ending.

And, if almost too quickly, he pulled away. 

Morgan’s eyes, previously closed during the kiss, were now wide open.

“Damn, baby,” he exhaled. “Who taught you how to kiss like that?”   
  
Reid’s own eyes widened in shock. “Uh…..”

Sensing his discomfort, Morgan shushed him. “I’m kidding, Reid, you don’t need to answer that. Just know that I enjoyed it, okay?”

The younger man smiled. “Okay. You already know I could give you my entire sexual history, and probably a good deal of your own, but I think we’re both going to be alright without that. I’ll finish up.”

With that, Reid broke away and once again flitted around the room, hindered only by the twinges of pain in his shoulder. He picked up a couple more items; Morgan noticed two books and then one small pill bottle (likely Reid’s migraine medication, as the bottle was nearly empty) find their way into the bag.

Moments later, Reid straightened and shouldered the bag, grimacing.

“Nuh uh, Reid,” Morgan said, moving closer. “Gimme that.” Though Reid looked ready to protest, Morgan shook his head. “Listen, kid, this isn’t up for debate. I got this.” Reid shot him a look but allowed him to take the bag anyway.

“Alright, pretty boy. You ready?” At Morgan’s question, Reid nodded, and wordlessly, the pair retraced their path back downstairs to Morgan’s car. Reid’s door shut behind them loudly, and somehow, the sound felt just as prominent as both men’s heartbeats. 

~

The final leg of their drive was short, aided by Morgan’s knowledge of side streets in the D.C. area. Soon, they were pulling into his driveway, and he grabbed their bags once again as Reid followed him up to the front door.

“So, anything I should know about Clooney?” 

Morgan laughed; Reid seemed to view his dog as some sort of larger-than-life being, rather than the loveable, oversized-puppy-type of a German Shepherd mix as he was. “Nah, kid. He’s gonna lick you a lot, and sniff you, especially since you slept in my clothes a couple nights ago, but he’s not gonna bite or anything like that. Don’t worry.”

With that, he unlocked the door, moving in quickly to stop Clooney from escaping into the front yard. Reid followed on his heels, stiffening as the large dog bounded up towards him.

“Hey hey hey, Clooney, paws off, okay? He’s a lil shy, let’s give him some space,” Morgan cooed at the dog, scratching behind his ears as he dropped off their bags by the door. “Plus, he’s mine, anyway.” 

He ducked his head at his own admission of affection, and when he looked at Reid, he realized that the younger man had much of the same reaction. 

“Uh, Reid? I’m sorry, if I’m coming on too strong,” Morgan admitted, motioning for Reid to join him on the nearby couch as he propped his legs up on the table. Their bags were left in the home’s entrance, to be dealt with later. 

Reid sat somewhat stiffly next to him, keeping a few inches of distance between their bodies. “Morg- Derek, it’s not that. It’s just a lot, you know?”

And Morgan did, more than he wanted to admit. After all, this was the first time he had really felt such a compelling attraction to someone, especially a  _ someone _ that was a man. It wasn’t exactly what he had planned for himself.

Then again, it’s hard to plan for someone as extraordinary as Dr. Spencer Reid.

“I know, Reid. I like you, and now that I’ve admitted it to myself- and to you- it feels like the floodgates have opened. It’s all just sorta hitting me, but I know I’ve been pretty insistent about it,” Morgan admitted. 

Surprisingly, that statement made Reid panic, his fingers moving frantically as he rubbed at the swollen joint on his shoulder. Morgan reached out and grabbed his hand instinctively.

“Shhh, Reid. It’s okay.”

“Morgan, I think, um- I think you’ve misunderstood,” Reid said, pausing. Morgan tried to keep a straight face, but he grew nervous, wondering what exactly he had been mistaken about.  _ Was it the kissing? The admission of feelings? All of this, and he never wants to see me again?  _

“I don’t- um. Hold on,” Reid turned, sliding closer to Morgan on the couch. That, at least, assuaged many of his concerns, though his wheels were still turning.

“It’s not that I don’t want this- not at all. It’s actually the opposite, it’s how much I  _ do _ want this. And the guilt, knowing that only weeks ago all I could think about was Maeve, and yet somehow, you still lingered in every corner of my brain. I feel guilty, because if I had confronted how I felt about you, so much would be different,” Reid explained and reached for Morgan’s hand.

“First, I would’ve been with you, so much sooner. All of this could’ve already happened, all the ‘figuring things out,’ and I think I want that most of all. But also- if I hadn’t been so afraid to admit my feelings, I wouldn’t have ended up with Maeve,” he sighed, and Morgan knew instantly what was coming.

“Maeve wouldn’t be dead.”

It was a simple phrase, but the pain behind it was almost too much to fathom. 

Morgan couldn’t help but pull Reid closer, into a sort of half-hug. He hoped that his feelings- as complicated as they were- were conveyed in the gesture.

“Yes, that’s so incredibly stupid and illogical, I know, Morgan, you don’t have to say it. She still had a stalker, that wasn’t about me, but still. Maybe it would’ve been different.” Reid hung his head, ashamed at his own words. “I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence, allowing for the weight of Reid’s words to sink into their skin. Morgan almost started to speak, multiple times, but the words didn’t come. How could they? Reid knew his feelings were illogical, as did Morgan, but that couldn’t possibly negate the anguish that accompanied them.

There was little that he could do to help Reid, and that very thought was destroying him. This man, who he had known for so long, and who had experienced so much, was perhaps disadvantaged by his past, and his knowledge of so many things. That insight destroyed him nearly as much as it helped him.

So instead of talking, Morgan listened.

Every so often, Reid would say something, typically muffled by the placement of his mouth up against Morgan’s shoulder, but Morgan would still nod along, and wait as Reid spoke. He hadn’t ever really understood the dynamic between him and Maeve, given the inherent complexity of their unconventional relationship, but regardless, he knew that she held her own space within his heart. And she deserved it, every ounce of Reid’s love.

Because Morgan had felt it too, Reid’s own love for him. Even this early, and even faintly, he knew how much it meant. 

And it was probably the most perfect feeling in the world.


	10. chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> il est beau comme le soleil // ma merveille, mon homme à moi  
> (beau comme le soleil - notre dame de paris)
> 
> a brief interlude, as morgan and reid spend one peaceful afternoon together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that this chapter is SIGNIFICANTLY shorter than all the other ones, but i really did just want a brief look into the more simple moments of reid and morgan's budding relationship. plus, i've spent most of this fic writing from morgan's perspective, even though it's 3rd person, and i wanted to let reid's voice be heard a little bit more here.
> 
> more to come, of course. i'm trying to decide what direction to take- i'm not a big fan of case-heavy works, and i'd also like to avoid the ridiculously-oversaturated market of "reid whump" (no hate, i love those fics as much as you do) fics. i want this to be happy, so we'll see where it goes.
> 
> as always, i love your comments and feedback.
> 
> i'm still not doing well, but anyway, it's my birthday tomorrow (sept 18) and um- i'm saving up for a wheelchair for my medical needs and if you'd like to learn more, feel free to reach out to me on twitter at @hlstarlight . i'd love to hear from you!

###  **~chapter ten~**

The team’s reprieve from work is, as it tends to be, short-lived. Though they haven’t been called in for a case, their break is cut early due to Strauss’s request for their case paperwork to be filed immediately. It’s just another step in her quest to control every aspect of the BAU, despite their success as one of the most skilled departments in Quantico. 

Hotch is able to hold her off for one day, but it means that their two-day respite from the horrors of their job has been reduced to one (and it’s already past noon, so they’ve only got about 18 hours before their presence is requested- required is a more accurate word, though- back in the bullpen.

And after the past few days (weeks, months even), Morgan and Reid are going to take advantage of what little time they have. 

They both know, too well, how fleeting these moments can be. 

Reid moves first, pulling away from the warm embrace of Morgan’s arm around him to lean up and kiss the older man. It’s soft, and gentle, and somehow, every kiss feels as perfect as the first. He’s surprised by his own confidence, in making the first move to kiss the man, but he’s starting to realize how much of himself he’s yet to understand.

Morgan, ever the ambitious one, is equally ready to learn. 

It’s nice, settling into this moment together. Morgan’s couch is undeniably comfortable, and Clooney is ever-present at their feet. Reid still doesn’t feel particularly relaxed around the dog, but Morgan loves him, and that’s reason enough to try.

His words from earlier about his frustrations regarding admitting his feelings for Morgan- and the accompanying grief over Maeve- still hang heavy in the air, but Morgan’s lips are a comfortable distraction. 

Kissing Morgan- it’s _different_ , but not in a bad way.

The younger profiler isn’t new to kissing, though it’s also not particularly a frequent occurrence in his life. Typically, when he’s found himself kissing someone, his brain seems to short-circuit. He remembers, not entirely fondly, what happened when he had kissed Lila Archer. 

Then, his brain and body had gone numb. Not necessarily quiet, but certainly overstimulated. It’s like all of the thoughts in his head disappeared and were overwhelmed with a sense of stress or fear. 

But now, kissing Morgan- he didn’t have the same feeling of nervousness or discomfort within his own mind. 

Now, he feels like himself, even in this unfamiliar setting.

Kissing Morgan is like coming home. 

His brain instead spends its time reveling in the feeling of Morgan’s lips, the older man’s strong hands snaking around his back (carefully, as to not disturb his bandaged shoulder). He catalogues the sensation of Morgan’s fingers trailing down his spine, and when he’s suddenly pulled into the man’s lap- this is new, too, for him, feeling small and secure rather than anxious about his gangly limbs- he memorizes how sensitive every nerve feels in his body, as Morgan’s warm skin presses against his.

When Morgan’s shirt comes off, tangling slightly in between them, he reaches out and _touches_. His eyes are still closed, as are Morgan’s own, but Reid can feel every muscle of the man’s torso, every inch of his strength and ferocity epitomized in the pleasantly-hard skin there. 

Derek reaches next for Reid’s shirt, unbuttoning it slowly as his lips maintain their constant presence against the younger man’s own. Reid pulls back slowly, not exactly out of fear but the slightest apprehension, and their eyes meet. 

And somehow, that hesitation seems to melt away. 

Morgan’s smile could light up a thousand dark spaces, and Reid feels impossibly lucky as he revels in the warmth. 

He nods swiftly, and his own shirt is removed, until there’s nothing separating their torsos from touching as they lean against each other on the couch. Their kisses slow, the fire within them still burning strongly, but both men are aware of the situation, and neither wants to push too far. It’s all still new, and each man has suffered enough trauma to know their limits.

So they settle back into the couch, exchanging words of admiration as the feeling of peace washes over them. It’s mid-afternoon now, the sun shining brightly through the nearby window, and they find something to watch on TV, their fingers still tangled together and their shoulders ever-touching.

Eventually, Clooney’s patience wears thin, and the dog starts to bark incessantly, so Morgan breaks their contact to pour him some kibble and let him outside to run around. Reid stays on the couch, musing about the day’s events, and what came before. 

Every moment that the two men shared has led them to this, for years and years coming. Many of them were unpleasant, that much is guaranteed in their line of work, but along the way, those tragedies pulled them together.

It’s unconventional, but so are they.

Morgan cooks them dinner, but he accidentally burns the chicken breasts he’d planned to accompany their meal; and he’ll deny it, but Reid’s fairly certain it’s his fault- after all, it’s probably pretty difficult to keep an eye on the stove when your boyfriend (at least, that’s the terminology he’s assigned to him in his head) keeps kissing your neck from behind.

So they order pizza instead, and Reid deflects the gentle teasing from Morgan. The older man’s surprised at Reid’s boldness, especially given his rather demure presence in the office, but there’s no complaints from either one of them. This side of Reid is just that- one more element to his multi-faceted personality, and Morgan’s never been happier to get to see how complicated the younger man is. He wouldn’t mind learning everything he can about Reid, even if it takes him a lifetime. He’ll never stop wanting to listen.

And when the night ends with them kissing again, this time in Morgan’s bed, it’s harder to break away, but they do, eventually. Reid’s clad in a pair of his own pajama pants, but like the night in the hotel earlier that week, he’s chosen one of Morgan’s t-shirts. The oversized shirt hangs off of his narrow frame, but it smells like Morgan, and that’s good enough for him. Morgan is shirtless, and when the older man falls asleep before him, Reid can’t help but ghost his fingers over the tattooed skin on his back, tracing every inch of skin that he yearns to explore. 

He lies there in silence, accompanied only by the sound of Morgan’s sleep-ridden breathing and his own thoughts in his head. He’s spent many hours reflecting on this, the peace that they share even without words, and though it’s still hard for his brain to understand, that a man like Morgan could love him just as much as he does- even though the words haven’t been exchanged yet, not explicitly. But he trusts Morgan, and that faith can’t be weakened, even by his own insecurities. 

Reid’s long past waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Morgan to decide that he doesn’t want this anymore, that he doesn’t want _Reid_ anymore. Morgan’s comforting eyes and persistent smile has convinced him not to fear that, at least not often. 

_For the first time in a long time_ , he decides, _I’m glad to share an elephant’s memory. I never want to forget this_.


	11. chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're all emotional wrecks // but it don't matter cause // all we ever wanted was to feel like this  
> (all we ever wanted - hey violet)
> 
> a peaceful morning, and a less-than-peaceful case to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes at the end this time!
> 
> i know i've switched to shorter chapters for this fic, but my adhd brain isn't doing super well with the 8k chapters that we've become accustomed to.
> 
> as always, your comments and feedback are the air that i breathe. i hope you enjoy!

###  **~chapter eleven~**

The two lovers, bodies curled up against each other and entangled with the silky sheets, are awoken at an ungodly 4:47am by the sound of phones ringing- well,  _ both  _ of their phones ringing.

Derek moves first, groaning and untangling his arm from around Spencer’s waist. The younger man in question is significantly more hesitant to wake up, though he quickly reaches out a hand to grab his cell phone and slide a finger across the screen to answer the call.

As they both answer their ringing phones, they create a few more inches of distance between each other, hoping that whoever’s on the other end doesn’t realize that the two agents are, quite literally, in bed together.

“Hello?” Reid says, voice still hazy with sleep as Morgan, next to him, issues a similar greeting into his own cell phone. “Yo?”

When Reid realizes that it’s Hotch who’s on the other end of the call, he immediately panics, flailing a little bit as he struggles to use his sling-wrapped shoulder to raise himself into a sitting position. “Yes, sir, I’m here.”

Morgan, meanwhile, is having a similar conversation with what sounds to be Garcia on the other side of the line. “Hey, babygirl, yea, I was just sleeping pretty hard, that’s all…”

“We have a case. I know I said today would be an easy day for paperwork, off at 6pm, but that’s not going to happen. It’s local, and it’s not a good one, there’s a threat against the Russian consulate and without Prentiss, we’re going to need you on Russian translating duty for a while. How soon can you be here?” Hotch’s voice is tired, but calm, and Reid can tell he’s been awake for a while- far longer than he’s wanted to be, that’s for sure.

“Oh, uh, I can be in the office in about 22 to 25 minutes, sir,” Reid decides, calculating the time it’ll take for him to hop in the shower (he and Morgan had fallen asleep without even considering the idea last night) alongside the fact that Morgan’s place is significantly closer to the FBI Academy than his own.

“Sounds good, Reid, see you soon.” And with that, Hotch has hung up the phone, and Reid stares blankly at the brightly-lit device. He’s not exactly exhausted- he slept surprisingly well in the bed next to Morgan, and the wheels in his brain are already providing statistics as to  _ why _ (something about serotonin reuptake properties and the science behind sharing time with a romantic partner)- but he’s never quite gotten used to the early-morning wakeup calls that come along with his job at the BAU.

He moves to get out of the bed, but Morgan’s still engaged in his conversation with Garcia, and he feels the older man pull him back for some extended moments of cuddling. They don’t exactly have time to spare, but who is he to say no to his lover?

Plus, Morgan’s hands against his skin are perfect enough to make him accept being a little bit late. 

“Yeah, l’il miss thing, I’ll be there in about 25 minutes,” Morgan called into the phone to Garcia. “What? No, I’m alone, you’re hearing things, get your mind out of the gutter. See ya in a bit.”

With his statement hanging awkwardly in the air, Morgan hung up and turned his attention back to his young lover in the bed next to him. “Good morning, baby,” he whispered, pulling Reid impossibly closer to him as the younger man protested softly, with no real weight behind it. “How’d you sleep?”

“Well, uh, I slept pretty well, you don’t kick too badly honestly,” Reid said nervously, thinking about what all he had to do in order to get prepared for work. “I, uh, we need to get going though. Hotch seemed pretty stressed already.”

“Baby, relax, it’ll be okay,” was Morgan’s response- and damn, Reid’s still not quite used to the usage of that particular pet name.

“Did you tell Garcia that you were alone?” Reid’s question isn’t particularly loaded, though he’s puzzled by the man’s choice of wording. 

“I did,” Morgan replied. As soon as he noticed the confusion- and slight sadness- in his lover’s face, he amended his statement. “Pretty boy, it’s not because I’m trying to hide you, I’m not ashamed of you.”

“Oh?” It’s Reid’s typical response when he’s uncertain, which he certainly is now. 

“Bab- Reid, you know I’m not  _ embarrassed  _ by you, not at all! It’s just that I don’t really want to have this kind of conversation with Pen over the phone, or at 5 o’clock in the morning. I’d rather do it in person, even though she’ll probably find out anyway when we show up to work together. I just like enjoying my privacy, and my time with you.”

As he finishes his sentence, Morgan tilts his head and pulls Reid in for a kiss, soft and gentle in contrast to the fiery passion of the previous kisses in the younger man’s apartment. Reid jumps a little bit, but he relaxes into the kiss, allowing the rapid-fire of thoughts in his brain to still as he savors the warmth and simpleness of Derek’s lips against his.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles against the older man’s mouth. Reid doesn’t want to break the kiss, not really- the feeling of Morgan’s lips is almost too good to resist- but he doesn’t want to be late to work, either.

“Morgan… we’ve gotta get ready for work,” Reid implores. “I need a shower.”

The older man pulls back, not even trying to hide his grin. “Wanna shower together?”   


And though Reid considers it, at least temporarily, he pops Morgan lightly on the forehead with his good hand before crawling out of bed. “Don’t, that's not a good idea in any regard,” he responds. He doesn’t say it, but he knows that if they showered with each other, there’s no way they’d be in the office with any sort of urgency. And Hotch wouldn’t like that one bit.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it a rest. Take a quick one, I need to get clean too. Don't start reciting _The Illiad_ or anything like that, babe,” Morgan says as he too gets out from under the warm blankets. He’s still shirtless, and he runs a hand over his fading bruises on his arm as he watches Reid. The younger man in question is dressed in a tee and comfortable pants, and he can’t help but admire the view as Reid walks towards the attached bathroom.

Moments later, he can hear the water turning on and the sound of what he assumes is Reid humming as he climbs into the shower. He smiles to himself, not even attempting to stop his brain from conjuring up (albeit sexy, though somewhat inappropriate) imagery of his young lover in the shower.

Those thoughts keep him company for a few more minutes, as he moves around the room to pick out a black v-neck and dark-wash jeans to wear to work. He’s glad that he and Reid had stopped by the younger man’s place to pick up some clothes yesterday afternoon. Even though it’s a local case, and they won’t be utilizing the jet for a few days, he’s relieved that at least the team won’t catch on to their budding relationship thanks to them wearing the same clothes as in prior days.

Soon, the water shuts off, and Reid emerges from the en suite bathroom. 

_ Damn _ , Morgan thinks to himself as he sees Reid, clad only in a stark white towel around his waist and hair still dripping wet.  _ My boy really is beautiful _ .

He’s still somewhat surprised by his own (even internal) honesty in terms of his lover’s appearance. It’s not that he doesn’t have experience with men, though it pales in comparison to that of his trysts with women, but it’s still different, how his brain conjures up such passionate feelings for Reid.

Wordlessly, he moves over to the young man, who’s standing on the doorway with his hands wrapping around his narrow form. “Hey, my pretty boy,” he coos, leaning in for a kiss.

Reid smiles, blushing heavily when they pull apart. “Hi…” he hasn’t quite chosen any pet names to use with Morgan, so he settles on his name, for now at least. “You should take a shower, I didn’t steal all the hot water yet so you’re pretty lucky, if you ask me."

The younger man grabs his recently-packed bag, which Morgan had moved into the bedroom during the prior evening, and starts looking for clothes to wear. Morgan takes a moment to admire him before moving into the bathroom and savoring what little hot water Reid had left for him. He’s used to fairly short showers, as was typical with his time on Chicago P.D. and bomb squad, but he’s not as familiar with this sense of urgency- it’s not often that he’s looking forward to a man in his bedroom.

Never, even, that he’s looked forward to someone with such fervor as Reid.

So he climbs into the shower, relishing in the realization that, since Reid didn’t bring his own body wash or shampoo (Morgan still has his own favorites, despite not having any hair to speak of), his lover will spend the rest of the day smelling like him. It’s comforting, and it certainly sends a bit more blood flowing throughout his body as he scrubs at his own skin hurriedly before shutting off the water. 

When he exits the bathroom, dressed similarly to Reid only minutes earlier in a towel- though his is a bit more tight, speaking to Reid’s narrow stature- he enjoys that he’s able to render Reid speechless. 

The younger man stutters slightly as he looks up from his hardcover book. Reid’s dressed in a deep blue button-up and similarly-colored cardigan, as well as black slacks and matching laced-up Oxford shoes. It’s nice making the younger man breathless, given how prepared he always seems for every situation.

“Lemme just get dressed, and then we’ll be good to go. Do you want to stop for-” He’s cut off by Reid holding up a mug.

“Coffee? I apologize if it was an intrusion of your home’s privacy, but I saw the Keurig in the kitchen downstairs and figured you wouldn’t mind if I made a couple of cups. There’s a travel mug with your name on it downstairs, same for me,” Reid explains, a pink sheen tinting his cheeks.

“God, pretty boy, you’re better at this than I expected. I might need to keep you around forever, huh,” Morgan purrs, moving to his stack of already-picked-out clothing for the day. “Wanna turn around, or, uh…”

Reid jolts, moving quickly to face away from Morgan. “Ah, sorry about that.”

It elicits an unabashed laugh out of Morgan, as it’s fairly hilarious- but also quite endearing- that Reid doesn’t feel comfortable in seeing him naked yet given how much time they’ve spent with their bodies pressed up against each other in the past 48 hours. But he also considers the comfort of it- he’s not used to taking it slow, but Reid’s worth every moment.

“No worries, babe. You ready?” By the time he walks up next to Reid, Morgan’s already dressed and wrapping his arm around the younger man. Reid’s given up on the sling for today, but his shoulder is still somewhat painful, so Morgan hesitates before touching it. Nonetheless, the younger man nods, and they make their way downstairs and out the door to Morgan’s car.

It’s not entirely uncommon for Reid and Morgan to ride in together for work- especially given Reid’s injury-prone history, the Metro isn’t always a good choice for him- but they both know they’ll have to be careful if they want to stop the team from picking up on their relationship.

Neither one particularly wants to  _ hide _ their relationship, of course- they’re both pretty over the moon about it, anyway. And, knowing their team of profilers, it was likely that they’d already put the pieces together. It’s mostly a non-issue, but Morgan’s known Reid long enough to know that he’ll want to avoid the attention.

If Garcia finds out, though, all bets will be off.

Regardless, their drive into the downtown sector towards Quantico is pretty uneventful, though Morgan can’t resist holding Reid’s hand for the entirety of the drive.

Nothing’s changed for them, not really at least. They’re known for spending a lot of time together, and when Morgan reflects on it, he realizes that he’s been “putting the moves” on Reid for quite some time. Now, at least, he’s not nervous about holding Reid’s hand.

It feels right. And in their line of work, he’ll take what he can get.

~

When they arrive at the BAU bullpen upstairs, JJ and Blake are there to greet them, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of various international bureaucrats speaking in both English and Russian. Cases like this are never good- even though they’re sticking close to home, international politics seem to complicate things more than they help.

Hotch stands by the round table room, so Morgan and Reid drop their bags at their desk and head up the short flight of stairs to meet him. Though Hotch looks tired, there’s a twinkle in his eye that neither man expected.

“Good timing, guys,” he acknowledges, sounding far too cheerful for a quarter-past-five in the morning. “Morgan, Garcia’s pulled a list of known enemies for the Russian consulate staff, I’ll need you looking through that with the rest of the team. We think that they’ll be targeting Ioann Zaystev, he’s come under fire recently for outwardly bashing some of Putin’s recent political moves. Interpol was expecting him to be pulled from his post for his inflammatory statements, but that hasn’t happened yet, so we’re keeping our options open.” Morgan nods, internalizing his task before stepping back towards JJ’s office, where Garcia and Blake have set up shop.

The Unit Chief turns to Reid, and his demeanor shifts to a more caring approach. “How’re you feeling, Reid?”

The younger man tries to avoid rolling his eyes- he’s used to being “parented” by Hotch, but it’s still more than a little irritating. “I’m fine, sir. Where do you need me?”

Sensing the young agent’s unwillingness to delve into his personal feelings at the moment, Hotch suddenly becomes all business. “Right. There’s a translator set up inside-” he tilts his head towards the round table- “and she’s going over the extracted audio files from inside Zaystev’s office. He’s been attempting to keep everything as business as usual, hopefully we’ll be able to determine who’s targeting him and the rest of his staff. Go in, see what you can do.”

Reid nods and steps into the room, where he’s greeted by a sight he didn’t quite expect- but one that he’s unbelievably glad to see.

“Emily?”

Sitting in a chair at the round table is Emily Prentiss, her dark hair and recently-trimmed bangs framing her grinning face. She looks impossibly happy to be there, even with respect to the fairly significant threat to national (and international) security that’s taking place around them. And Reid’s probably even more pleased to see her.

They’ve lost her once, and now twice, in less than a year- it’s been about six months since he saw her, before she left after JJ’s wedding. He doesn’t know if she’s back for good or not, but still, having her back in this room is enough for now.

Plus, Reid can’t  _ wait _ to see Morgan’s reaction. He's going to want to grab a camera- not even his eidetic memory will be good enough to capture this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, creating actual plot points?? iconic, honestly.
> 
> seriously, i'm not sure exactly where i'm going with this, but i definitely am enjoying the semi-reunion that i've got going on so far. it's all i could ever dream of, the girl squad can't get better than this!


End file.
